


Not Tomorrow Yet

by jedia_lo21



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), World War Z - Max Brooks, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - The Walking Dead Fusion, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Apocalypse, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Fluff and Angst, Horror, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major Illness, Psychological Horror, Survival, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-04-13 23:47:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14123469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedia_lo21/pseuds/jedia_lo21
Summary: A lethal virus has spread across the globe, infecting millions of people, and turning them into violent, uncontrollable beings.Viktor Nikiforov was injured during the Grand Prix final and slipped into a coma. Upon awakening, he searches for his heart, his lover, his Yuuri, while struggling to survive in a sudden apocalypse...





	1. Days Gone By

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, new story idea! For those of you who just came from the recent chapter in my other on-going fic, Break Us New, I mentioned I was in the process of creating a serial bomber-mystery type fic. Well, this isn't it, but that is also coming soon. This just came to me all of a sudden. I'm planning for this to be a long fic, multiple small chapters posted more often. This one is based off The Walking Dead and Max Brook's World War Z....enjoy!

**Healthcare-Associated Infection (HAI) Outbreak Investigation Form**

 

**Name:** Dr. Aarav Srivastava

**Medical Record Number:** 717605

**Medical ID Number:** DLS1096457822

 

**February 2, 2018**

**12:53 AM**

Case Patient’s date of illness unknown, predicted to have been infected around the range January 16-January 1, 2018. 

Admit source in a rehabilitation center near C hitungwiza in Mashonaland East Province, Zimbabwe. Patient admitted under concerns for chills, fever, headache, and bouts of shock. After 3 days of local medical care, the patient developed severe bleeding underneath the skin and organs, including the fingers and toes.

 

**February 4, 2018**

**7:27 PM**

Case patient showing signs of severe infection. Hemorrhaging in the blood vessels has spread the disease up the neck and radiating out through the chest and legs. Observed bleeding from the nose and ears.

 

**February 5, 2018**

**1:12 AM**

Case Patient unresponsive to continual treatment. The damage to the body and its vital internal organs has forced the patient into persistent vegetative state. Unresponsive to stimuli.

 

**February 5, 2018**

**2:01 AM**

Case Patient awoke at approximately 1:54 AM. Signs of increased irritability, motor and concentration issues, involuntary movements, and rasping. Inability to form coherent words or recognize commands.

  
  


**From Report Sent From Chitungwiza Rehabilitation Center to the CDC’s Emergency Response Branch:**

Widespread panic in the Rehabilitation Clinic’s medical facility. Local officials and medical officers have attested the Case Patient’s unexpected violence and altered mental status to destruction of the brain and its processing abilities. Unfortunately in the struggle, Dr. Aarav Srivastava of the CDC was severely injured by the seemingly mad patient and is under quarantine and investigation.

  
  


**From the Desk of the CDC:**

Dr. Aarav Srivastava developed similar symptoms to the Case Patient, including severe alteration of personality and violent tendencies toward other individuals. Not long after infection from Case Patient, he attacked a large amount of the staff without signs of hesitation or exhaustion, despite the illness wracking his body. One nurse described his rampage as “bloodthirsty and inhuman. He is a monster. He is no doctor anymore.” Srivastava was killed in a struggle with one of the staff who drove a scalpel through his brain.

 

***

 

**Moscow, Russia**

**August 16, 2018**

 

Viktor Nikiforov launched off the ice, arms squeezing into his body with the force of the dizzyingly fast spin, before landing with a sharp  _ crack _ on the ice, outside edge of his golden blades slicing and gripping the ice beneath him. 

 

A shift in body weight brought his free leg parallel to the landing foot in a wide spread eagle that drove him across the center of the ice, barely dodging the blond Russian boy, Yuri Plisetsky, coming out of a layback spin.

 

“Watch it, old man!” The curse echoed through the rink, accompanied by the shouts from Yakov leaning against the rink barrier to scold him.

 

Viktor grinned.

 

The flash of silver blades across the rink caught his eye and he watched a gorgeous black-haired man slide into a sinful hydroblade that stretched the skin-tight leggings hugging toned thighs and a beautifully plump ass.

 

Viktor groaned quietly at the sight of his lover as he came up out of the move with the graceful twirl of his skates and transitioned into a seductive little step sequence.

 

Viktor tapped his lips with a finger, studying his fiancee across the ice before shooting forward to meet him.

 

He caught Yuuri about the waist from behind, pulling the still-soft body of his lover tight against him. “Hmm, you’re so beautiful,  _ lyubov moya _ ,” he whispered and pressed tender kisses against the warm skin of Yuuri’s neck.

 

The Japanese man let out a cute squeak and turned in his arms, face already flushed red. “ _ Viktor _ ,” he cried. “What-? Why are you...I don’t-”

 

“Your free leg is a little sloppy on one of the transitions in your step sequence,” Viktor crooned against Yuuri’s neck. “Let me show you. I’ll lead you through it.”

 

“Viktor!” Yuuri protested, laughing as the Russian man slid his hands down Yuuri’s arms to lace their fingers together.

“Morons!” Yuri Plisetsky shouted, eyes sharp with rage. “Stop being gross on the ice! I’m trying to skate!”

 

*******

 

**Interview With Dr. Mitche Wolfe, Acting Director of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention:**

 

**By: Katherine Daniels**

 

**Daniels: Should government officials be concerned about a widespread pandemic, following troubling accounts of Zimbabwe’s and the surrounding nations’ shutdown?**

 

Wolfe: The CDC is taking preventative measures quite seriously. Our diplomatic speakers have worked tirelessly with the African ambassadors to make any and every endeavor to ensure the outbreak of the XI-Alpha virus does not spread over national boundary lines. We want to contain the situation to the area and develop a cure soon.

 

**Daniels: How long should officials expect before they see any research-cure breakthroughs?**

 

Wolfe: Every virus is different from another. The CDC is requesting funding from the government at this moment to study the strains of the XI-Alpha virus and trace the genealogy to their parent strain. There we can develop important vaccines to be distributed.

 

**Daniels: Many people are expressing concerns about this new virus’s capability of shutting down neurological functions. How do you respond to this?**

 

Wolfe: We are still investigating the exact symptoms and capabilities of this virus. For now, there is no need to worry.

 

*******

 

**Researchers Still Don’t Know What is Causing Packs of Dolphins and Whales to Swim Ashore!**

 

**Environmentalists Study Increasing Sickness in Schools of Fish. Global Depletion Worries Both Economists and Environmentalists**

 

**Experts Study Bite Marks On Beached Whales. ‘No Shark Could Have Done Damage Like This’**

 

*******

 

**Moscow, Russia**

**September 19, 2018**

 

Viktor ran his fingers through the silken black hair of his lover, squeezing Yuuri tighter against his body. The Japanese man let out a content sigh.

 

Their bodies were intertwined tightly on the couch, Yuuri pressed up against his chest, nose pressed into the hollow of his throat.

 

Viktor pressed a sweet kiss to the top of his head and trailed his hand up and down his lover’s back. He felt a moment’s regret that Yuuri wasn’t at his off-season weight, soft and curvy and wonderful to sink his hands into as they snuggled in bed. Yuuri had long since shed the extra pounds from the off-season in preparation for the new skating season. The muscles in his back, thighs, and stomach were corded and sharp.

 

“What are you thinking about, Vitya?” Yuuri mumbled against the skin of his throat.

 

“I’m thinking about how much I miss your pudgy body cuddled against mine,” Viktor pouted and pulled Yuuri up to his face to lay punishing kisses all across his forehead, cheeks, eyelids, jaw, anywhere that made the Japanese man squeal with delight.

 

“Viktooor.” Yuuri protested weakly against the onslaught.

 

There was a quiet whine from the edge of the couch. Makkachin had climbed out of her bed to see why her owners were so loud and squirming on the couch. She wagged her tail delightfully at their laughter and barked, matching their enthusiasm with her own.

 

Viktor smiled and reached out for her, sinking his fingers into the curls on the top of her head. Her tail wagged furiously. Makkachin rested her head against the couch, pawing weakly at the edge for her owners to make room for her.

 

“Ugh. We’re not all gonna fit on this couch. Let’s get in bed. It’s late anyway and we have early practice tomorrow morning,” Yuuri mumbled and climbed off Viktor’s chest, stretching out his cramped muscles.

 

Viktor groaned at the loss of his lover and followed the Japanese man into the bedroom, an eager Makkachin at his heels.

 

*******

 

**The World Health Organization Calls for Extreme Trade Regulations**

**October 12, 2018 | 2:38 PM**

**By: Patrick Sueze**

 

The WHO, or the World Health Organization, has called for extensive regulations on trade ships leaving harbors in Africa. Following an outbreak in Zimbabwe, officials and health administrators have devoted much attention and resources to preventative measures, but their efforts have been in vain.

 

Despite extensive border control, the dubbed “XI-Alpha” virus has managed to infect more than 37 countries in Africa, and more than 50,000 people. CDC reports have classified the virus as a lethal infectious disease with over 12,000 reported deaths. The CDC still does not know the full extent of the symptoms of the virus but have warned people to seek medical attention for chills, fever, nausea, distorted vision, vomiting, and internal bleeding, especially if you have visited Africa in the past year.

 

While measures have been put in place to prevent the spread of XI-Alpha to other countries across the globe, the CDCs secrecy about the virus’s lethality and reports of the virus raise the question: 

Is our world on the verge of destruction?

 

*******

 

**Everett, Washington, United States**

**October 21, 2018**

 

“Viktor Nikiforov has crushed the free skate here at Skate America! After taking a break last season to coach GPF silver medalist, Yuuri Katsuki, Nikiforov has managed to shatter all expectations and win the gold medal with a combined score of 301.13 points! He leads this event with an almost 8 point lead!”

 

Viktor stepped off the podium and skated to the rink’s entrance where his fiancee stood, beaming.

 

“Are you going to kiss my medal,  _ solnyshko _ ?” Viktor murmured low in Yuuri’s ear, grinning at his lover’s hitch of breath at the statement.

 

Yuuri’s eyebrows drew together, a challenging fire lighting up his eyes. He reached out and gripped the cold metal threaded with thick ribbon and lifted the gold circle to his lips. Cameras shuttered in rapid succession. Fans leaned forward in their seats, eyes locked on a pair of supple lips descending gradually on the gold.

 

Viktor snatched the medal out of his fiancee’s hand and leaned down to meet Yuuri’s lips in a fierce kiss. 

 

*******

 

**Police Across the World Say They Have Seen Similar Cases of People Acting Strangely**

 

**UN Health Agency Calls For Unsettling Travel Restrictions. The United States Protests Against Regulation.**

 

**Human Trafficking Ring Exposed By Murder Spree! First Responders Called it a Horrifying Bloodbath** !

 

**Video From Taiwan Shows A Man Beating Another Man. The Victim is in the Hospital Being Treated with Large Scratch Marks and Gouges of Missing Flesh.**

 

**Is Increasing Talk of Doomsday a Hoax?!**

 

*******

 

**Vancouver, Canada**

**December 9, 2018**

 

“Yuuri Katsuki has shot up the ranks and earned a spot on the podium! Will he keep his gold medal or will Viktor Nikiforov manage to knock him down to 2nd and claim another title as this Grand Prix Final’s gold medalist!”

 

Viktor pulled his fiancee close and buried his nose in Yuuri’s hair. It smelled like the hair gel he used to slick it out of his face. “I’m so proud of you,  _ moya lyubov _ ,” he murmured, stroking the nape of Yuuri’s neck.

 

The Japanese man smirked. “Enough to beat you?”

 

“I certainly won’t make it easy,” Viktor laughed and shrugged off his Team Russia jacket to wrap around his fiancee’s shoulders. Yakov beckoned him over to enter the rink and Viktor stood up to follow, only to be pulled roughly back down onto the bench at the Kiss and Cry.

 

Yuuri pressed his lips to Viktor’s ear and whispered, “ I’ll be waiting for you to kiss my gold medal.”

 

Viktor shuddered against the Japanese man, holding back a delighted moan. “Don’t take your eyes off me,” he answered and followed Yakov to the rink barrier.

 

Of course he wasn’t going to go easy on his Yuuri. He wanted to marry his lover so badly, but he knew Yuuri wanted to win in the truest way. By knocking Viktor Nikiforov off his throne fairly.

 

The Russian man skated onto the ice, throwing up his arms as he twirled around the rink to the screams of the fans surrounding him in the audience. A familiar determination steeled his bones and shot adrenaline through his veins as he took his opening pose on the center of the ice.

 

It had been a while since he’d felt so excited to perform.

 

He had a lover waiting rink-side to prove his love to.

 

The soft opening notes of a piano echoed across the ice. Viktor shifted his weight, blade sweeping the ice as he entered a backward pivot, twizzling out into deep backward crossovers with a graceful sweep of the arms. He felt the loneliness of the opening to this song, a representation of how his life seemed before he met Yuuri- unfulfilling and isolating.

 

The notes in the song crescendoed into a beautiful chorus, spiraling into an uplifting melody that had Viktor sinking into a lunge. He ignored the protest in his knee and the slight wobble in his blade. He was never really as flexible as Yurio or Yuuri.

 

Viktor set up the transitioning elements, building up speed as he launched into a quad lutz, a dizzying whistle echoing in his ears as his body tore through the air. His blade was there to catch him as his body sank toward the ice. The edge gripped the smooth surface below and Viktor swung across the ice.

 

Successful landing.

 

It didn’t feel right though. His blade had seemed to protest the extra weight and force. The skate had seemed to dip on the landing like it was loose.

 

Viktor shrugged it off. He had to complete the program.

 

The Russian man swung into a flying sit spin, hugging his leg as his skate twirled on the ice. Fondly, he thought of Yuuri’s passions for spins. His lover was always good at these.

 

The next few minutes of the program flew by. Viktor could feel the adrenaline rush fading as the song continued on. Yuuri always had remarkable stamina and could throw surprising quads into the final seconds of his program, but Viktor didn’t have the strength to do that. And his knee would probably give out.

 

He had one final jump combination. And then a step sequence. Spins. Final pose. Soon he’d be able to skate to the rink’s entrance and launch himself into Yuuri’s arms, gushing about the end to his final program- the final program of his career.

 

He had talked with Yuuri extensively about the decision and both knew that this was his final skate, his final season. Yakov had already lined up a job as an assistant coach for him at the rink while he coached his fiancee (hopefully husband) to a few more gold medals.

 

And then they would retire. Hopefully to Hasetsu. The Japanese town was so peaceful and he knew Yuuri missed his family. They would be so happy to live there for the rest of their lives. Perhaps Yurio would move his home rink and join them there.

 

As he glided along a backward edge, setting up for the flip jump, his mind flashed to an image of himself and Yuuri, officially married. They were curled up on the couch together, wedding rings flashing in the morning sunlight as they giggled and kissed and smoothed their fingers over each other’s skin, basking in the feeling of being in the arms of each other.

 

His toe pick sank deep into the ice and he heard a sharp snap as he launched into the air, rotating one, two, three, four times, free leg prepared to launch him into a triple loop.

 

But there was no blade.

 

Viktor let out a cry as he slammed hard into the ice. There was a sickening crack as his knee took the force of his landing weight without a blade to absorb the shock. He fell sideways, mind hardwired into falling on the ice with his hip. He felt a few of his ribs give way as his body slammed into the hard surface.

 

His head followed with a loud  _ crack  _ that echoed throughout the silent rink.

 

*******

 

**Doctors of Recently Hospitalized Government Ambassador Report that He Was Mauled to Death**

 

**CDC Claims the Virus is Spreading Faster Than We Can Control**

 

**Diseased Birds Falling Out of the Sky in the UK**

 

**United States and Canada Claim There Are No Manifestations of the Virus Within Their Borders**

 

*******

 

Viktor swam in and out of consciousness. His head sent aching flashes of pain radiating throughout his body. His fingers were tingly.

 

_ It’s so cold _ , he mused. He could feel cold wetness against his back, his arms.

 

_ Where am I? _

 

Small sensations returned to him gradually, and his body screamed with the pain. 

 

“...itor...you need...keep still...”

 

“...medics....rriving soon…”

 

“So much blood…”

 

The voices echoed through his skull, pounding away in harmony to the fierce aching sending pangs through his head. Viktor wanted to sleep. He wanted quiet and peace.

 

_ It’s so cold….where am I? _

 

_ What happened? _

 

“Viktor.”

 

The quiet voice sent a shockwave through his heart. He knew that voice!

 

_ Yuuri. _

 

_ Yuuri, where are you? _

 

“Shh, I’m here, Vitya.” 

 

There were warm fingers tugging gently at his hair, easing the pain in his head slightly. Viktor wanted to see Yuuri. He wanted to see those beautiful brown eyes open to meet his.

 

_ Yuuri. _

 

“The medics will be here soon, Viktor. Just hold on. Hold on.”

 

Viktor whimpered quietly and reached for the hand holding him down.

 

_ Don’t go, Yuuri. _

 

There was a flash of light behind the darkness, shapes blurring in and out of his vision. The lights above him swam into focus slowly. They were so bright. He squinted his eyes against the artificial glare.

 

_ I’m still at the rink… _

 

And then he remembered.

 

He had launched into his final jump combination, but his skate blade had broken off and sent him crashing to the ice.

 

_ God. Yuuri. _

 

“Viktor, you need...keep still….shhh...itor…”

 

The voice was fading away and he reached out desperately for his fiancee.

 

The terror slammed against his chest, speeding up his heart.

 

His eyes caught the final image of his beautiful Yuuri, hair slicked back from his pale face, brown eyes glistening with pain and fear. His lips were moving, speaking to him, but Viktor was fading away into the darkness. His lids closed against the bright light.

 

Darkness crashed down on him, drowning him in a heavy sea of pain and misery.

 

_ Yuuri. _

 

_ Yuuri _

 

_ I love you. _

 


	2. Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri and Chris are caught in the center of destruction and the beginning of the apocalypse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Graphic scenes of violence ahead! Lots of blood and noise and death!!

**December 25, 2018**

**16 Days After Accident**

“There’s so much traffic,” Yuuri moaned, craning his neck up and over the seats to catch sight of the hundreds of cars parked in rows in the lanes in front and to the left and right of their car. “What is going on? It’s never usually like this.”

 

“Maybe it’s a funeral procession,” Chris murmured next to him, eyes locked on the phone in his hand as he scrolled through his Instagram.

 

Yuuri shot him a look he knew Chris wouldn’t see. “A funeral procession wouldn’t hold up this many cars. Where are these people going?”

 

Chris sighed and clicked his phone off. He shoved it in his coat pocket and then pulled Yuuri close into his side, stroking his hair. “It’ll be fine,  _ mon ami.  _ Viktor will still be there even if we get there 20 minutes from now.”

 

Yuuri frowned and leaned away from him. “Don’t joke, Chris. He’s in a  _ coma _ . I have to be there for him, so he knows I’m there. The doctors said to always assume that coma patients can hea-”

 

“I know what they said, Yuuri. But if Viktor could hear you, shouldn’t he be awake by now?”

 

Yuuri bit his lip and turned away to hide the tears burning against his lids. “He’s still healing. When his body thinks it’s ready to wake up... _ he’ll  _ wake up.”

 

He didn’t want to admit it, but Chris’s concerns were right to some extent. Everyday a coma patient remained asleep meant less of a chance that they would even wake. Not to mention, if  _ he  _ were to wake, there would still be health risks, physical therapy, maybe even memory loss, paralysis, neurological damage, muscle loss-

 

“Hey!” Chris gripped his shoulders and turned him roughly to face his green eyes darkened with pain. “Don’t think like that. Viktor wouldn’t want you to worry about anything and everything you’re thinking of right now. Do you understand me, Yuuri?” Chris gave him a firm shake.

 

“Yes,” Yuuri whispered and sank into Chris’s embrace.

 

They stayed like that for a few moments, basking in the relief of a friend’s arms that meant safety and comfort. The moment of peace was broken by the Uber driver up front mumbling quietly. The driver reached out to change the dial on his stereo, flicking through the channels filled with static.

 

“...World Health Organization has been tracking...recent outbreak that began in Zimbabwe and has now...reported in over 37 countries...responding to allegations that it hasn’t done enough to prevent the spread…”

 

Yuuri reached over and tapped the driver’s shoulder. “Can you please change it?” He whispered quietly. 

 

“Ah, of course,” the driver muttered, face pale at the report.

 

They had been getting many of those recently and all across the globe. At the Bed and Breakfast where he and Chris were staying, the owner, and old, gray woman, always had the news going in the dining room. Every morning, afternoon, and night.

 

The flood of reports were thickening and every country seemed to have its own allegations to tell. Yuuri had been keeping up with reports in Moscow, the Kyushu district in Japan, and Toronto where his husband was currently receiving medical care in the hospital.

 

He would’ve liked to transport his husband to a hospital in Moscow or St. Petersburg to be close to his new-found family in Russia, but Viktor was still too frail to attempt the trip to another hospital so far away.

 

So he had no choice but to stay in Toronto and keep Yurio and Yakov updated on his husband’s progress. Luckily, Chris had volunteered to stay with him for a while, worried that Yuuri would self-destruct on his own in a city so foreign to him. And he was right. Chris had saved him so many times from his own thoughts in the past couple weeks. Yuuri couldn’t imagine a better friend.

 

“What...what the  _ hell? _ ” The uber driver adjusted his rear view mirror, squinting at something behind them.   
  


Chris turned in his seat. “What? What is it?”

 

The driver rolled down his window and moved his side mirror out to catch the cars almost a block behind them turn into the next lane or open to let out its passengers. A few people hurried past their Uber car, weaving on and off the sidewalks and around passerby as they headed up the street.

 

The wail of a siren echoed down the lanes and an officer on a motorcycle brushed past them, clipping the side of the driver’s car.

 

“Hey! What the  _ fuck  _ man?!” The driver yelled and set the car in park, yanked roughly at the handle, and stood in the street to watch the cop weave in and out of the traffic, disappearing down Elm Street up ahead.

 

“He’s just going to keep going?” Yuuri cried, aghast. He watched the driver of the vehicle curse angrily and squat down to look at the damage.

 

“He gouged my car!” The driver snapped, tracing the jagged scar of the cut metal.

 

More sirens wailed in the distance. A deep rumbling sounded behind them, getting louder and louder. A horn blared and Yuuri watched as the crouched driver turned and looked up in the direction the noise was coming from. The driver’s eyes widened as the 14-wheeler barrelled into him.

 

His body made a sickening crack as he slammed into the windshield, a noise that accompanied the loud grate of metal against metal as the truck plowed into the uber car and the van in the far lane next to them. It didn’t slow down. The large truck careened through the cars ahead still stuck in their lanes of traffic, before it crashed into a fuel truck just crossing the intersection 250 feet ahead of them.

 

The explosion rocked the car they were in. People on sidewalks screamed and covered their heads. Drivers and passengers slammed out of their vehicles to see the damage ahead shrouded with a thick cloud of dust and smoking debris.

 

Chris gripped his arm tightly. “ _ Yuuri!” _

 

People rushed past the car, shrieks of terror echoing down the street as they ran, some vaulting up and over their cars, tripping and scraping and scrambling over the asphalt all around them. But they weren’t stopping to see the carnage up ahead and the flaming ruins of the colliding trucks.

 

No. Yuuri watched perplexed as they shot past the smoking vehicles and continued down the road.

 

It was almost like...they were running away from something.

 

A tendril of fear pricked his heart at the sight of the mindlessness with which they ran. There was a terror in their faces he had never seen before. They were deathly afraid.

 

A sudden weight in his stomach sent his heart tumbling in his chest. Something was wrong. There was a feeling planted inside of him, growing with foreboding.

 

_ Go,  _ it snarled.

 

Without hesitation, Yuuri plunged over the center console of the car and into the driver’s seat.

 

“What are you doing?” Chris cried behind him, gripping the front seat with white fingers.

 

“This is our way out,” Yuuri said, throwing the car into gear. The tires made a sickening squeal on the road that seemed to match the screams of the people still running past. Yuuri cut through the line plowed through by the 14-wheeler.

 

His hands shook from the adrenaline pumping through his system, the chemical in his body pushing him on, faster and faster and faster. His eyes scanned the road, alighting on the people still running past, the cars behind him overcoming their shock and opening, people spilling into the street, some craning their necks to stare at the something behind them and the line of cars.

His eyes briefly took in the form of a man standing at the corner of the intersection, waiting for the pedestrian light to turn. He wore a faded tie dye shirt, khaki shorts, and thick brown boots. There was a red bandana tied around his neck and he held a smartphone out in front of him, videotaping the still-smoking wreckage of the trucks.

 

Yuuri swerved around them, turning right on the next street.

 

There was chaos here too, lines and lines of cars trying to turn out of their lanes and escape the street. A group of military personnel ran by, stunning Yuuri and Chris as they mounted assault rifles over their shoulders or held out walkie-talkies as they rushed past them.

 

“What is going on!” Chris moaned from the back seat. He had turned around and was looking at the destruction behind them. Yuuri’s eyes left the road ahead for a brief moment to watch Chris as he gasped and leaned forward a bit further to see what was happening behind them.

 

He didn’t hear the passing ambulance as it shot around the corner and slammed straight into his side of the car.

 

The force of the impact ripped an aching cry out Yuuri as his body slammed back into the driver’s seat. There was the shattering of glass as the windshield cracked and the passenger window shattered completely. Metal was dented from the force of the collision, grating with an ear-piercing shriek, as the car slid sideways and dragged across the surface of the ambulance.

 

With a thunderous  _ boom _ , the air-bag deployed with a stinging cloud of dust, burning the skin of Yuuri’s face and arms as his body collided with it.

 

His eyes spun in and out of darkness. There was a heavy ringing in his ears that drowned out the noise outside. His vision blurred into existence slowly as people raced past the broken vehicles, paying no heed to check if they were alright. All around them, smoke danced and whirled from the engines of other cars that had gotten into accidents.

 

Pain splintered through his head and he winced, raising a weak and bloody hand to feel the back of his head. Tender. Swelling. Probably a concussion.

 

Yuuri whimpered as the shock of the collision shattered the bravado and adrenaline he’d felt not seconds ago when he’d thrown the car into gear and raced out of the traffic they’d been held in. Now he felt like his body had been thrown off a cliff and he’d been forced to hike all the way back up to the top.

 

“Yu...i? Wh...re yo.. alri...?”

 

The noise was like water rushing through his ears, distorting the syllables from becoming clear. Yuuri strained his ears against the ringing fading into the back of his head. The noises and screams outside were slightly muted, as if someone had turned the dial to the volume of the world until it was only background noise.

 

“Yuu..?”

 

“Yuu..i?”

 

“ _ Yuuri!” _

 

The noise returned almost instantaneously, slamming through his eardrums like a bullet. The mayhem outside seemed almost louder now than it ever had been, and it shredded his aching head with a cacophony of shrill noises all vying for the loudest attention.

 

Yuuri turned around, wincing as the action sent a gut-wrenching ache through his head and ribs. Chris was still in the back seat, a palm pressed to his forehead, blood spilling between his fingers.

 

“Chris…” he tested his voice out and it escaped his mouth, gritty and weak. “Chris...are you alright?”

 

The Swiss man released a pained breath and removed his hand from his head, wincing as it ripped against the blotting blood. There was a bright red gash stretching across his forehead. It wasn’t bleeding too heavily. “I’m alright. I could be better though,” he winced. “Skating practice has never felt like this before.”

 

Despite everything that had just happened to them in the span of a few moments, Yuuri grinned slightly. “Well, car accidents aren’t skating practices.”

 

“We need to get out,” Chris murmured, hand already on the handle of his door.

 

Yuuri nodded and stepped out, taken immediately aback by the chaos outside. The noise was amplified almost exponentially. There were so many more people filling the street now, running erratically in different directions. They pushed and shoved against one another harshly.

Some lost their balance in the tumult and were shoved roughly to the ground where they disappeared beneath stampeding feet and didn’t rise again, crushed to death by the crowd.

 

Chris gripped his shoulder and spun around in all directions. “I lost our direction. Where do we go? Where did we come from?” The Swiss man’s voice was rising, quickening with an anxiety Yuuri recognized as something he’d feel right before going out to skate in competition.

 

“Chris,” he firmly gripped the man’s arm. “Chris, we need to stay calm. Breathe and think. If we panic, we’ll be lost with the crowd.”

 

He searched the desperate green eyes with his own brown ones. In the back of his mind, he marvelled at his level-headedness in that moment when the entire city was in distress. Perhaps it was the adrenaline kicking back in, flooding his brain with a cool sort of detachment that forced him to observe his surroundings.

 

_ It won’t do to panic and die. Think! _ It screamed in his mind.

 

Out of the chaotic noise, he picked up the rumble of an engine. A large RV a few hundred feet ahead was steering desperately away from the crowd of people. A part of the crowd broke off, one man in the front throwing open the door to the vehicle. The driver of the RV was pulled out and thrown to the ground hard.

 

People were already scrambling to get up inside.

 

_ We have to get there. We have to get to that RV. It’s our ticket out of here _ , the sensible, adrenaline-fueled part of his brain urged.

 

*******

 

A man stepped out of his van that had been hit by a barreling truck not moments ago. His wife was sobbing in the passenger seat and his little girl was screaming in her car seat, legs swinging wildly, fingers clenched around her stuffed animal.

 

The crowd of running people had thinned somewhat in their rush to get by. They must have been the stragglers to the quicker, larger group still running erratically up ahead.

 

But these stragglers seemed different. Their hands were curled like claws. Their heads jerked roughly sideways and forwards and back, like their skulls were attached to strings and, like puppets, jerked around in erratic and exaggerated movements.

 

There was a soft rumbling noise barely overheard beneath the screams of people all around him. It was a growling, rasping, shrieking sound, as if people were making the noise by sucking air in and letting it sit in their throats like yowling, moaning cats.

 

A shiver ran up his spine at the noise. The sound was animalistic. Inhuman. Monstrous.

 

The grating calls sounded behind him and he spun around to see people tearing down the sidewalk at top speed. One of them was a woman dressed in a tight pencil skirt, heels clutched in her hand as she raced barefoot across the cement. Little huffs of breath escaped her lips along with quiet whimpers of fear.

 

She turned around just as a man sprinting behind her, a teenager by the looks of him, suddenly launched himself forward and tackled her, hand jamming her head into the hard ground below. He let out a shriek. That inhumane, guttural, animalistic cry before burying his head into her shoulder.

 

The man let out a noise of surprise and fear as the woman wailed and struggled. He backed up a step, mind beginning to sort through the people sprinting around him. Some let out cries of panic. Others let out rasping shrieks that sounded like nails being dragged down a chalkboard.

 

He turned and raced back to his van.

 

The man opened the car door and met the eyes of his wife. She had stopped crying, curled up in fetal position in her seat, face pale with fear. Her eyes were wide and danced to him, the backseat of the car, and then to him again.

 

The man peered over the driver’s seat.

 

His daughter sat straight up against her carseat, back stiff and trembling, eyes locked on the man sitting next to her in the backseat. He was in his mid to late forties, dressed in a crisp business suit. He must have snuck into the van while the man’s back was turned.

 

The businessman opened his mouth to speak, to defend himself, to beg to stay in the safety of the car.

 

The man just slid into his seat and slammed his door shut.

 

“Daddy,” the little girl whimpered. “Please I want to go home. Daddy, please,  _ please-” _

 

_ CRACK _ . 

 

The man’s wife shrieked and curled up against her seat, feet pushing against the dashboard as if to shield herself.

 

The man turned toward the windshield, cracked and splintered.

 

A woman was perched on the hood of his car.

 

Her brown hair was limp and stringy as if it hadn’t been washed in weeks, hanging down and around her face like some maudlin ghost girl from a horror film. Pale blue eyes watched them, clouded over like they were diseased, and splintered with bright blood vessels crawling across the eyeball like cracked glass. Her eyes were locked on his, glinting at the sight of prey cornered and unable to run.

 

She opened her mouth and let out a sickening screech, fingernails scratching absentmindedly against the broken glass of the windshield.

 

And then she slammed her head into it.

 

His daughter screamed, his wife cried, the businessman shouted with horror and shock.

 

Over and over and over again, the woman plunged her head into the glass, blood spraying from her torn forehead and staining the windshield with red as she struck it with dizzyingly hard force. There was no hesitation in the action, just the mindless slamming of her head into the glass.

 

She wanted to break it. She wanted to get through.

 

The man shouted with horror. His hand shot out to grip his wife’s thigh.

 

The glass in front of them shattered in a kaleidoscope of shards, translucent crystal and bloody drops raining down on them.

 

The woman began her attack.

 

*******

 

Yuuri watched as a woman drove herself through the windshield of a car. The frightened driver opened his door and tumbled out in a tangle of limbs.

 

The woman let out a gargled shriek and plunged her teeth into the man’s shoulder. The driver of the van let out a choked scream of pain as she jerked and tugged at the flesh in her mouth.

 

“Yuuri! What is that! What the  _ hell  _ is that thing!” Chris cried out in panic, seizing his shoulders as he watched.

 

Yuuri pushed him away. “I don’t know! I don’t know, just get to that RV over there! We need to get out  _ now! _ ”

 

Yuuri was tugged forward by Chris who immediately began sprinting for the brown vehicle in the distance. A group of people were fighting each other for possession of the RV, throwing punches, kicking, and shoving as they grappled for dominance.

 

Yuuri turned around for a moment to see the driver of the van laying crumpled next to his vehicle. The woman had run off and disappeared to claim another victim in the sea of running people.

 

The driver of the van spasmed and choked, fingers trembling against the asphalt. His head whipped from side to side, dragging against the gravel. Soft cries became raspy moans and then guttural groaning deep from his throat. He flipped over suddenly onto his stomach, nails curling into the ground below him.

 

Blood stained his cracked fingers. Blood poured from the torn flesh of his shoulder.

 

A sickening crack echoed across the street as the man turned over again and his spine jerked upward as if he’d been shocked with a high voltage of electricity. His shoes scrabbled against the pavement as his back arched and cracked and jerked. 

 

He was moaning as if in pain. Shrieking like he was in agony. Seizing like he was dying.

 

The man rolled over and over, spasming, limbs tangling and flying in all directions, like a limp ragdoll tossed wildly about so its limbs splayed out everywhere.

 

With a final crack the man went still.

 

A pause.

 

Then with a shrieking groan he stood suddenly, eyes blinking rapidly.

 

They were bright blue now, flicking left and right at the movements of running figures all around him.

 

A noise from the van caught his attention.

 

He lunged sideways and slammed his head over and over into the passenger window of his car, fingers jamming into the cracking glass and coming away shredded and covered with blood. 

 

Someone ran in front of Yuuri, blocking his view of the van for a moment. Chris tugged him harder and Yuuri soon lost sight of the vehicle as the sea of people swelled and the chaos mounted. Everywhere now, he could see growling, mindless people bent over screaming, flailing bodies.

 

The scent of blood, a cloying aroma of iron and sickness, choked the air around him.

 

He figured this was what death smelled like.

 

Chris pulled him harder. “Let’s go before those people see us sneaking off with their RV. We can’t fight them!”

 

They cut around the crowd of people yelling and screaming and fighting as their fear and desperation swelled and made them turn on each other for possession of the only means of escape. Chris slammed the door to the RV open and pulled himself up and into the high vehicle with a soft grunt. Yuuri followed, hands already on the gears of the vehicle as soon as the door shut.

 

At least the driver of the RV hadn’t taken out the keys when he was ripped away. They were still sitting in the ignition, car rumbling in park.

 

Yuuri slammed on the gas and the tires squealed as he ripped away from the crowd of shocked people, still and frozen as they watched the RV tear down the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna write the chapter where Viktor woke up, but my hand slipped...here you go!
> 
> This was taken from one of my favorite scenes in Brad Pitt's adaptation of World War Z! 
> 
> Also thanks everyone who commented on my last chapter. I didn't expect to get feedback at all, but you guys seriously made my day. I don't think I've ever smiled for so long<3<3


	3. Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yakov and Yuri make a surprising visit to Toronto...Yuuri and Chris struggle to put their fears aside to survive...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing too intense in this chapter. I'm sorry if it seems like filler but it had to be split off into 2 chapters. It was getting waaay to long. But enjoy!  
> (Also I've never written anything from Yurio's point-of-view before. I'm still struggling a little with how to write him. Sorry about the mess!)

**Breaking News: Toronto’s Collapse; Was it A Terrorist Attack? Keep Updated…**

 

**The Highly-Infectious XI-Alpha Virus- Human Rabies or the Next Black Death?**

 

**Is Our World Coming To An End? Stay Safe With These Apocalypse-Life Hacks!**

 

*******

**Dec. 24, 15 Days After the Accident**

 

**Pulkovo International Airport**

**|Departures|**

SZ 252        Khudzhand  16:30   On Time

SU 6323      Kaliningrad  17:30   On Time

EK 7874      Moscow       19:00   Boarding

BA 879        London        19:30   Cancelled

AF 1225      Toronto       20:30   On Time

 

Yakov frowned at the departure board, eyes scanning the list for their flight- AF 1225. The board was filled with hundreds of brightly colored letters that hurt his eyes. He wondered for the hundredth time if this was a mistake. 

 

Ah. There it was at the bottom. Of course.

 

It was a great shock to see ‘on time’ written in green letters next to it. Aeroflot was never one to be early or on time. He was sure the departure time would change in the next hour.

 

“ _ Yura _ ,” he grumbled. “Where are the boarding passes?”

 

The blond-haired Russian let out a moan. “Here, old man,” he snapped, reaching into his leopard-printed backpack for the envelope holding their tickets and passports, “No need to shout.”

 

Yakov snatched the envelope out of his hand with a glare the Russian boy didn’t see, eyes locked once more on his smartphone. He was either texting Yuuri for updates, checking his social media, or chatting with that... _ Otabek.  _

 

Yakov shuddered. While he didn’t mind the Kazakhstani boy too much- Otabek was quiet and brooding and fit right in at the rink when he visited- he was a great distraction to Yakov’s rising skater. Yura was always texting him. At the rink during water break, at the rink during lunch break, in the car driving back to Lilia’s house, during his home studies, and late at night after curfew even when Lilia issued harsh punishments in the form of exhausting ballet.

 

The boy was enamoured.

 

Then again, so was Vitya with that little Japanese skater.

 

Yakov’s eyes drew together with pain. 

 

_ Look where that relationship got him. _

 

Yakov grumbled under his breath and fished out the tickets. There were 3 of them. One for him, for Yura, and Viktor’s dumb dog.

 

A whine sounded next to him as if the animal in question knew what Yakov was thinking.

 

_ I don’t know why Viktor lugs you around everywhere he goes. You’re more trouble than you’re worth,  _ he thought only a little fondly, kneeling down next to the dog crate to stroke Makkachin’s fluffy ears through the holes. She whined again and licked desperately at his fingers through the halter around her snout.

 

He didn’t want to admit it, but putting that thing over her head was about the hardest thing he’d ever done. As much as it was a hassle to even get her on board, she was Vitya’s most trusted companion throughout most of his life. She was a damn loyal dog.

 

Except when she was being shoved into that crate.

 

The dog kennel and halter were Aeroflot’s stipulations for bringing her on board in the cabin. Technically, dogs over 8 kg couldn’t even be transported in the baggage hold. It had taken many phone calls to managers and the managers of managers and service desks and key people at headquarters before his credibility as the most renowned coach in figure skating across the globe awarded him with a discounted first-class flight and a poodle in the seat next to him.

 

How Viktor had managed to do this multiple times between Russia and Japan was beyond him. That boy was insane.

 

Yakov sighed and stuffed the tickets back into the envelope which he stuffed deep in his coat pockets.  _ “Yura! _ ” he barked at the boy next to him, leaned up against his suitcase with the handle locked upright.

 

Yuri let out a deep sigh.

 

Yakov grumbled and turned to the security guard next to him, in charge of carrying the over-sized poodle crate to the boarding gate. “ _ Let’s go,”  _ he snapped in Russian, turning on his heel toward the Aeroflot gates. He didn’t wait for either Yuri or the young and trembling security officer to catch up.

 

*******

 

“Ugh. When are we getting food. I’m  _ starving _ ,” Yuri groaned to the old man studiously ignoring him in the next seat.

“You already ate,” Yakov sighed to him, voice low and grumbling.

 

“Yeah. Some shit borscht from the airport cafeteria.”

 

“ _ Language, _ ” Yakov growled deeply, warningly.

 

It was his tone that made Yuri grin on the inside. The old man had reached his breaking point. Just one more little push would send him right over the edge...and he would turn into a firetruck-red demon from hell.

 

“It was gross and its color reminded me of your face when Lilia rejected you sleeping together in the same bed last night,” Yuri waited as the words sunk into the overly-large bald head.

 

Yakov whipped toward him, eyes black and sharp like knives, face filling with blood instantly like the flip of a switch. His wrinkles seemed more pronounced this way, Yuri observed with much amusement. He looked like a cross between an angry gorilla and a tomato.

 

“ _ YUR- _ ”

 

The pilot’s voice cut him off from the intercom.  _ “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. Welcome aboard the non-stop flight to Toronto Canada, flight 1225. We’ll be touching down sometime around 10 AM tomorrow in Toronto Pearson International Airport…” _ __   
  


Yuri groaned and slammed his head against the seat.

 

Another 14-hour flight. He’d been subjected to plenty of those throughout his skating career, but this time felt...different. Because he wasn’t going to Canada to rub a gold medal in JJ’s stupid face. He was going to see Viktor. Still in a coma. 

 

And he was going to see Yuuri.

 

He could only imagine how the Japanese skater was feeling since the last time Yuri saw him. He remembered when the doctors came into the waiting room, eyes downcast and sad. Katsudon had stood immediately, caught sight of their faces, and seemed to draw into himself, curling his trembling shoulders into his body as if to protect himself.

 

In the room, Katsudon had shot straight to Viktor’s side, clutching the still hand in his own as he whispered words of endearment in a string of shaking Japanese.

 

Yuri hadn’t stayed to see much more.

 

He didn’t want to admit that seeing the old man like that- so pale and sickly and dead-looking- was too much for his heart to bear.

 

Viktor had been like a brother to him. An annoying, arrogant older brother...but a sibling all the same.

 

Now, however, he’d been given the time to think. He knew he needed to be there, to support Yuuri, and to apologize to Viktor for leaving him. He’d fled to Russia like a coward, tail between his legs like a stupid dog. 

 

Speaking of stupid dogs…

 

Yuri looked at his feet to the crate jammed on the floor tightly up against the seats in front of them. He could see Makkachin through the holes of her kennel, panting happily, sprawled out like a queen. She must know something was up. Perhaps she even knew that they would see Viktor soon. Or maybe she just recognized that she was flying on a plane and had to be still and quiet. Viktor had taken her on plenty of rides before.

 

It had been Yuri’s idea to bring Makkachin along. If anyone could wake him up from a coma, it would be his dog. Yuri was looking forward to a Sleeping Beauty-esque end to this nightmare, and it would be even better to catch Viktor wake up to slobbery kisses from his dog...and then from his fiancee…

 

_ “We ask that you stow away any bags or large valuables in the overhead bins. Flight attendants will be coming around to ensure everyone is strapped in and have turned off all cell phones, laptops, and any other electronic devices as we prepare to take off…” _

 

Yuri whipped out his phone and scrolled through his text messages.

 

Fuck. Katsudon. He hadn’t responded to any of the texts or calls Yuri had relayed.

 

The Russian cursed quietly. While he understood Yuuri’s anxiety gave him a certain tunnel vision when he was worried, so much so that it blocked the entire world out, it was going to be a real mess to land in Toronto and then find the motel Yuuri was staying at or even Viktor’s room in the hospital without help.

 

Yakov must have also told him that they were coming...right?

 

The old man was frowning down at his phone too.

 

Katsudon must be closing off again. 

 

He only sent short messages to them these days:

 

**No change.**

 

**Nurses moved him to a more comfortable room. He’s stable.**

 

**Visiting hours changed. Hospital staff are worried about some new virus infecting the weaker patients. They want to quarantine him.**

 

**New therapist came in with more motion exercises.**

 

**Brought a new vase of flowers. The room already smells fresher now.**

 

That last one was sent two days ago. Katsudon hadn’t really replied to any of Yuri’s other messages. It looked like he wasn’t reading them either. All his messages had been ‘delivered’ but not time **-** stamped.

 

Talking to Chris seemed like the only option. The thought made Yuri shudder. 

 

Viktor’s friend was too outgoing and weird. Especially with those sexual skating performances.

 

The Russian let out a noise of disgust,

 

“Yura. Put your phone away,” Yakov snapped next to him.

 

“Oh, fuck off. Yours is out too.”

 

*******

Yuri was sulking in his seat.

 

Yakov had fallen asleep hours ago and was currently snoring next to him, head lolling back against his seat. Makkachin had moved to the floor at their feet and was snoozing as well, huffs of breath moving her body up and down.

 

Yuri couldn’t sleep. It was hard for him rest on planes. He wasn’t scared of being high up or anything, but his body still refused to relax even after being awake for almost 16 hours straight.

 

Maybe it was the food.

 

Only half an hour ago, a stewardess had taken his order for a meal, giving him only two options for the courses. He was currently looking at a small black tray filled with yellow and green goop. It was supposed to be ravioli in creamy pesto sauce, but the ravioli looked like dehydrated rubber swimming in lime-green paste.

 

Yuri set the tray aside and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms.

 

Yuuri hadn’t texted him back at all during the 10 hours they’d been flying.

 

The Russian boy hoped that Viktor was alright and nothing had happened during the time they were up in the air. If he finally touched down on Canadian soil only to be told that Viktor had.... _ passed  _ during their flight, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.

  
Suddenly an image came to mind of Viktor waking up from his coma, Yuuri screaming with relief and wrapping him up in a tight hug, layering his whole face with desperate kisses. He imagined Viktor healing over the next few months, announcing his retirement to the relieved skating community and fans, and then both men leaving for Hasetsu. Living in the village by the sea.

 

They would get married on the beach to the cries of the seagulls and the celebrations of everyone in that small town that had come to see the foreign Russians as their own.

 

Yuri knew that he would follow them if they left. He would follow them anywhere, to the ends of the Earth if he must.

 

And Makkachin. The slumbering dog had alerted Yuri with a low grunt. Her fleece shook as she breathed one long sigh before moving to stand.

 

The Russian boy let a grudging hand curl into the fur on the top of her head. With a soft whine, she rested her head on Yuri’s knee, closing her eyes at the feeling of being petted.

 

Yuri chuckled lowly. “You’re going to see Viktor soon.”

 

At the sound of her owner’s name, Makkachin cocked her head to the side, ears lifting comically. And then she attacked him. Yuri didn’t want to admit it, but he laughed and wrestled away from the wetness of her tongue on his cheek and her assault of kisses all over his face.

 

Makkachin loved Viktor so much.

 

She hadn’t been the same when the skaters from Russia returned without either of her masters. Yakov had brought her to Lilia’s house to live with the three of them. Most days she just curled up on the sofa near the window outside and just looked out and waited for her owners that wouldn’t return from Toronto.

 

Luckily she ate her meals, albeit only reluctantly. The old dog often left bits behind in her bowl that Potya tried to get into.

 

“Stop playing with the damned dog, Yuri!” Yakov grumbled next to him, shifting in his seat to level the two playmates with a glare.

 

“She’s getting antsy. I think she knows that we’re gonna see Vik-  _ him _ pretty soon.”

 

Yakov rolled his eyes. “Of course,” he muttered under his breath. “How far away are we from Canada?”

 

Yuri huffed and pushed Makkachin down, where she lay comfortably at their feet again, panting. “The pilot said we’re about four hours away.”

 

Yakov nodded. “Fine. I’m going back to sleep. If you wake me up again, Yuri Plisetsky, I’ll make you wish that you’d never been born.”

 

Yuri rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone, staring mournfully at the battery charge at 27%. “Empty promises, old man,” he murmured, opening up his text messaging app to talk to Beka.

 

*******

_ “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. We are about twenty-five minutes away from touch-down in Toronto, Canada. The weather is a bit stormier than we expected, but we’ll experience nothing more than some slight turbulence before we reach the Pearson International Airport…” _

 

Yuri snapped awake to the voice of the pilot echoing over the intercom.  __ He had actually fallen asleep after an hour texting Beka about a new video game being released that they would play together, how much he missed Potya already, and his fears about seeing Viktor and Yuuri at the hospital.

 

Beka had reassured him that everything would be fine before Yuri dropped off the face of the Earth and fell asleep.

 

“Fuck,” Yuri snapped as he held the power button on his phone to no avail. Apparently it had died during his sleep. He wouldn’t be able to charge it until they checked into their hotel or in the hospital room.

 

The Russian boy leaned over and shook Yakov awake. “Hey! Old man!”

 

Yakov snarled under his breath, eyes squinting against the heaviness of slumber and being roughly shaken awake. “ _ Yura _ , for the love of-”

 

The heavy snap of heels echoed down the cabin and both Russians turned to watch the stewardess rush past to turn on the overhead movie screen. The woman looked down at the little remote in her hands, frowning as she typed in the numbers to access the news station.

 

“ _...tragic reports of mass destruction and chaos in Toronto. Much of the Western and Southern parts of the city have become completely overrun with what officials are calling a large-scale terrorist attack. We don’t have too many details yet, or a report on how many, if any, survivors and injured are left…” _

 

“What?” Yuri whispered in astonishment and stood to get closer to the screen, Yakov right behind him. The stewardess glanced at them for a moment, but didn’t say anything. She pursed her lips and turned wide eyes onto the screen.

 

The camera was panning over the smoking ruins of buildings, cars and trucks piled against each other, their metal husks damaged beyond repair. Streetlights had fallen over and cracked the pavement of the streets. Glass littered the ground on the sidewalks and the road. Dust clouded the air, blurring the destruction slightly in the broadcast.

 

“ _ Survivors and the injured are being advised to make their way to hospitals in the Northern areas of the city, including North York, Mackenzie, Baycrest, and the Humber River hospitals to receive medical attention…” _

 

“Is...is Viktor okay?” Yuri whispered aloud and then turned to see Yakov’s grief-stricken eyes as the old man stared at the screen.

 

Yakov didn’t answer him.

 

Yuri’s heart plummeted to his toes and he swayed slightly, vision blurring. He couldn’t hear the reporter on the tv screen any longer. He couldn’t hear the hitches of Yakov’s and the stewardess’s breaths as they stared in horrific shock at the mounting chaos being projected to the world.

 

Yuri didn’t want to see stills and clips of ruined buildings, twisted metal, groups of people trekking down the roads to hospitals and safety areas, hunched over and bleeding, faces pale with terror…

 

_ “...Yura…” _ Hands gripped his shoulders hard, and the pain of it shocked him out of his head. Yuri stared into the eyes of his coach.

 

“Yura...Yura, don’t think about it. Not yet. Don’t jump to conclusions….Vitya is  _ fine _ ...he’s  _ fine  _  because he has  _ Yuuri  _ with him and Yuuri would rather die than see him be put in harm’s way. Do you understand me, Yuri? He’s fine...he’s  _ fine _ .”

 

Yuri could only stare with some wonderment as Yakov stumbled over his words, breaths uneven and gasping. The old man’s face was so pale and he seemed to have aged 10 years, wrinkles dark and shadowed on his already-weathered skin. Yuri could see the small beads of perspiration forming on his bald head, right above his lip, around his neck. Yakov was trying to comfort him even if the old man didn’t even believe himself.

 

The Russian boy let out a shaky breath and nodded.

 

If Yakov could pretend that things were ok, than he could too.

 

Makkachin let out a loud bark at the other end of the plane. Yakov, Yuri, and the Stewardess whipped around to face the poodle whose paws were placed against the window as she stared outside. She barked again, a  _ frantic _ , high-pitched yelp that tore through the cabin.

 

Yuri rushed over to see what she was looking at.

 

The plane had been making its way to the surface of the ground at the airport. It was shuddering slightly in the wind as it circled around the large building littered with grounded planes.

 

Yuri squinted harder at the ground slowly coming into focus and realized that the planes were strewn almost randomly about the airport parking lot, some turned horizontal in the middle of the pavement, like they tried to escape their jet bridges all at once and couldn’t quite make it into the air.

 

Grating static echoed beside them and Yuri turned as the Stewardess fumbled with the small intercom at her hip. She clicked the button and held it to her lips. “Repeat please.”

 

For a moment, only static filled the transmitter’s speakers. And then a thin voice broke the grainy feedback.  _ “...Gina...lost contact with Air Traffic Control...couldn’t hear the orders….don’t know where to land.” _

 

The Stewardess, Gina, pursed her lips and stared out the window again, gray eyes as flinty as the storm outside. “You can’t get them back online?”

 

_ “They had an emergency shutdown. Something happened inside the tower. Something  _ must  _ have happened. They cut the connection almost immediately. I only caught one word of their final order: don’t.” _

 

“‘Don’t?’” Gina questioned, tapping her nails against the window. “If it’s serious, we can’t land. We’ll have to land in America and hopefully get clearance before we lose fuel to touch down in one of their ports.”

 

_ “And what do we tell the passengers? They’re getting antsy, Gina. Jim wants to land, but I think it’s a bad idea. I don’t know about this. Something’s telling me that we need to turn back. But again, Jim is being a stubborn ass and protocol gives him the final decision in this.” _

 

“Dammit,” Gina snapped and ran her manicured fingers through her hair. “Tell him we can’t. Air Control has the final word. He  _ has  _ to follow that command.”

 

There were a few moments of tense silence and then the co-pilot was back, speaking desperately on the other end.  _ “The order wasn’t fully transmitted. At this point it can mean anything...Gina, we’re landing.” _

 

*******

Yuuri let out a quiet breath of relief as the RV broke through the outskirts of the major parts of the city and they cruised down a winding two-way road through a dense forest of trees, no buildings or people in sight.

 

Chris let out a huff and let his head fall to smack against the passenger window. “I still don’t know what just happened. What  _ was  _ that, Yuuri?”

 

The Japanese man leaned back against his seat, limbs and muscles aching from the strain of being pumped full of adrenaline, getting into a car accident, and then escaping from a city under complete destruction. He wanted to crash against one of the beds in the RV and sleep for days.

 

“I have no idea,” he whispered finally. “I....did you  _ see _ anything while we were escaping?”

 

Chris turned concerned eyes on him, green eyes dark in the shadows of his place in the passenger side of the RV. “Like what? I saw people running and screaming, cars crashing into each other, things toppling over onto other things….and then I saw that woman break her face trying to get through the windshield of that man’s car. She dragged him out into the street and  _ bit him _ .”

 

Yuuri shuddered, hands spasming against the wheel at the memory, the sound of teeth locking into flesh and tearing. He heard the screams of the dying man, agonized and terrified.

 

Chris continued, staring at the lines of his palm as if they held the answers to everything. “And then he just went crazy. He was almost exactly like her. I saw him try to break into his own car. When you were getting into the RV….I saw him rip another man out of the backseat of the vehicle. And then he attacked whoever was inside...but I  _ swear _ ,” Chris let out an anguished noise, “I heard the screams of as child in the van. A  _ child _ , Yuuri. He attacked an innocent, little child. He probably killed her-”

 

“ _ Stop _ ,” Yuuri snapped harshly. “Just stop.  _ Please _ . I don’t want to hear it.” Tears were blurring his vision of the road as he imagined what Chris had just told him. The thought, the mere idea of it, was so gut-wrenching, so horrifying….Yuuri had to turn his attention away on something else. He would give the words thought another a time. When he was alone and unwatched.

 

“Chris. Check around the RV. See if there are any supplies, food, water, boxes of  _ anything  _ that are in this vehicle that might be important.”

 

The Swiss man gave him a mournful look but nodded and stood from the passenger seat.

 

Yuuri’s heart sped up as Chris’s footsteps faded down the length of the vehicle. It was an irrational fear, but Yuuri had learned to trust Chris always being there next to him and at his side. The thought of the Swiss man leaving, even just 20 feet away, even for just a few moments, was  _ terrifying  _ .

 

There were rustling noises in the back, sounds of cupboards and doors being opened and closed. Chris’s voice rang out behind him. “There are cans of beans, soup, and fruit in two of the cupboards.  _ A lot  _ of cans, stacked 3 up and probably 5 or 6 deep.”

 

Another noise.

 

“There’s a case of water bottles under here...48 of them. Um...Dasani bottles…?”

 

Yuuri rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to be  _ that  _ specific, Chris!” He called out. The Swiss man let out a quiet laugh and continued his perusal.

 

“Bathroom. Sink works with running water. There’s some toothpaste, q-tips, and floss in this medicine cabinet in here.”

 

The sound of a door opening.

 

“A few rolls of toilet paper, towels, sunblock, pack of hair ties, and-  _ oh! _ ”

 

Yuuri jumped hard at a loud crash from behind him. He whipped his head around, heart hammering in his chest. His mind flashed with the memories of the man who had been pulled out of his van, writhing and seizing in the road, letting out awful choking, screeching noises…

 

Chris emerged with a large storage bin. “This was hidden behind the bathroom cabinet,” he murmured, setting it down in between their seats. The top came off with a  _ click  _ and Chris set the lid aside. The contents inside were covered with a thick fleece blanket which the Swiss man set aside over the back of his chair.

 

He pulled out a small cardboard box and ripped the tape off the sides. He pulled out two black rectangular devices and held them up in the air, turning them from side to side. “They look like ancient phones,” Chris mused, making a move as if to set them aside.

 

“Wait!” Yuuri cried. He turned the wheel of the large vehicle and parked them at the side of the road for a moment before reaching over to take the phones out of Chris’s hands.

 

“My god,” he marveled, turning them around in his hands, inspecting the casing on the sides.

 

“What? What is it? What are they?” Chris grumbled next to him.

 

“These are Iridium Satellite phones,” Yuuri whispered, fingering the thick antenna protruding from the top of the phone.

 

“Okay?” Chris sidled closer, squinting his eyes at the devices to find something more remotely special about them.

 

“These things are pretty valuable. I’m surprised the owner of this vehicle even has them. Phichit told me about satellite phones when we roomed in college together in detroit. His computer science class had a lecture about them.”

 

“And?”

 

“Satellite phones are different from regular cell phones which use cellular stations to communicate and send messages. These phones use low earth orbit technology. There are a ton of small satellites that orbit Earth closely. These phones are able to communicate directly from the satellite signals to transmit text messages, emails, and calls. Iridium phones are special in that there are multiple satellites at different distances in the orbit. No matter where you are across the globe, even in the most remote of regions, you will always have a signal to one of the satellites, and so, access to the rest of the world.” 

 

Yuuri placed the phones carefully in the box. “These can cost from anywhere between $500 and $1000, so the man who owned this RV must have invested a lot of money into getting a pair.”

 

“Why would anyone need these things if our phones have access to hundreds of cellular towers?” Chris questioned, moving aside the plastic in the box that had been wrapped around the phones.

 

“Something tells me that this guy must have paid attention to all those news reports and stories about doomsday that everyone else didn’t give much thought about.” Yuuri was quiet for a moment. “He recognized the signs when the rest of the world didn’t. He prepared accordingly….and look where it got him.”

 

The wry end to his words had Chris setting the box down immediately to take Yuuri’s hand in his own. “Don’t think like that. I don’t ever want you to think like that, Yuuri.” He pressed his thumb into the pulse of Yuuri’s wrist, feeling the drumming of blood in the veins beneath his finger. Yuuri was alive. So alive. His heartbeat proved it. To think like that seemed like giving up, and Chris couldn’t imagine a world where Yuuri wasn’t in it.

 

“Tell me more about these phones. Will we have to use these instead? Will our regular phones stop working?” The idea was wholly unsettling and terrifying.

 

Yuuri huffed. “Well, the only downside to these phones is that they are battery powered. Once they’ve lost their charge, that’s it unless you have extra batteries. But even those are expensive and hard to get.”

 

He set the cardboard box down carefully next to the storage bin. “If we lose signal here in Canada, if we lose the cellular towers here, we can use these phones. But for the time being, we still have connection to the world. Hopefully we don’t lose that.”

 

Yuuri looked away, biting his lip gently. “Hopefully we don’t lose the rest of the world.”

 

Chris was quiet next to him. Then he reached into the box again. Inside were plastic water bottles with built-in filters, a small bottle of iodine, a large plastic tarp, a sleeping bag, a four-person tent, two bolts of chained and braided rope, a long, serrated hunting knife, and a small box of .22 and 9mm caliber bullets.

 

“Where are the guns?” Yuuri mused quietly, shaking the cartridges in their boxes.

 

“I didn’t find any,” Chris shrugged. “They’re probably hidden in here somewhere.”

 

Yuuri nodded and placed his hands on the wheel again. “Alright. Let’s keep moving.”

 

They drove down the twisting road for less than a half-hour when Yuuri suddenly slammed on the breaks. Chris cried out as he was thrown forward against the dash of the RV. “What? What is it?” The Swiss man cried out in panic.

 

Yuuri was staring at something in the road.

 

It was a large red vehicle parked up against the side of the street, almost inside the treeline. The exterior was lined  and blocked with silver metal and white paint. The front of the vehicle was damaged, part of the metal jutting inward as if it had plowed into something round and sturdy. The windows in the front were cracked and stained red with blood. The door to the vehicle was barely hanging onto the hinges, swinging back and forth in the stormy breeze.

 

Chris shuddered. “Yuuri...don’t. I know what you’re thinking and we  _ can’t _ go over there.”

 

“It’s a  _ fire truck,  _ Chris. There could be valuable medical supplies inside it.”

 

“Or there could be more of those-those monsters!” Chris snapped with a glare.

 

Yuuri met his eyes head-on, fiery burgundy orbs challenging emerald green ones. Finally Chris sighed and looked away, breaking his gaze away from the beautifully fierce man before him. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” Chris whispered. “Those things...whatever they are...they’re fast and vicious and we can’t fight off a whole pack of them if they attack us.”

 

“It looks like they’ve already been here and moved on,” Yuuri pointed. “They got whoever was inside. Chances are they haven’t stayed around here. They’ve probably moved on to hunt elsewhere.”

 

“That’s guesswork,” Chris growled lowly.

 

“It’s an observation. Look, the blood on the window is dark. It looks dried. That means whoever was attacked in there is long gone. There aren’t any of those other monsters lurking around, either.”

 

“They’re probably waiting in the woods to ambush us.”

 

Yuuri shook his head. “No. I don’t think that’s possible. I...when I saw them attacking people in the city they just seemed... _ mindless _ and uncontrollable. That woman who smashed her head against the glass...if she was saner, she would’ve opened the door to attack them. But as soon as she saw the people in that vehicle, it was like her mind didn’t care how she would get there. She just wanted to attack them. She didn’t even care that she was crushing her skull in the process.”

 

Yuuri opened the door at his side. Chris’s eyes widened, panic filling the Swiss’s green eyes. “You don’t have to come with me. But I’m trusting my intuition and its telling me to go over there.”

 

The Japanese man disappeared from view as he lowered himself to the ground.

 

Yuuri turned, crouching up against the body of the RV. Outside, his skin prickled at the rising humidity. The air was thick with the promise of a raging thunderstorm...and it was thick with something evil. Yuuri recognized the stench from the chaos in the city- death. Death had ravaged here.

 

He had no weapons. He couldn’t protect himself if one of those creatures  _ were  _ just inside the treeline waiting for him. He probably should have left with that hunting knife. It would’ve offered at least some protection.

 

The door to the RV slammed shut. Chris stepped into the gravel of the road and offered him a hesitant smile. “You haven’t wronged us yet, Yuuri. I trust you. Just...just be careful.”

 

Yuuri nodded gratefully and the two began making their way to the vehicle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is confused about the timeline: Yakov and Yuri got on a flight to Toronto a day before the big destruction happened. The flight was 14 hours long and set to land about an hour after the zombies took over the city. Some real brutality is about to happen once they land in that suspiciously and terrifyingly empty airport (*wink wink*)
> 
> I swear, guys, we'll get to Viktor soon XD I just need to make sure that everyone is here before we let the ultimate destruction and angst rain down. I want to do this timeline right. Viktor is going to wake up in a different horror the apocalypse has to offer. We just have to get to that point! 
> 
> *rubs hands evilly together*
> 
> The next chapter is gonna be brutal, guys. But very, very exciting! I can promise you that! The crew is gonna come together and we'll have the ultimate skating/survival team on our hands. Take that, apocalypse!
> 
> The bad news is that the next chapter probably won't be out until the end of this week. I have a major chemistry exam on Wednesday that I need to pass. College really sucks sometimes. But, to make up for the delay, the chapter will be a long and exciting one!!!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is commenting, kudo-ing, and reading! You guys are the ultimate lifesavers!!


	4. Dead Or Alive Or

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plane finds the abandoned airport isn't really abandoned at all...Chris and Yuuri continue on their journey...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: explicit blood, gore, and violence ahead!!!

“What do you mean we’re landing?” Yakov roared, leaning over Gina to peer out the window. A thick storm was brewing overhead. Black and heavy clouds hung threateningly behind the airport building like an army gathered for battle. “What is going on?” He snarled.

 

No one answered him.

 

Yuri’s green eyes were flashing back and forth along the tarmac. “It’s so still,” the Russian boy whispered quietly. “Look, Yakov. It looks like no one’s taking off or boarding. All the planes are stuck down there.”

 

“It’s the storm,” Yakov muttered gruffly. “Pansies.”

 

Gina shook her head. “The storm is miles behind the airport. The planes down there can still get clearance to take off since the thunderstorm sits so low to the ground. They have plenty of time to get into the air and leave, anyway. These planes can safely avoid the storm if they fly above the clouds. That’s not why they’ve been grounded.”

 

“Then what are they doing down there? What are they waiting for?” Yakov growled.

 

He just wanted to collapse in the plane’s seat and sleep for days. His temples were aching and his back and his knees. The stress of everything was just enhancing his arthritis.

 

His blood pressure must be through the roof right now. Lilia was going to be pissed when he returned to Russia with more gray hairs. Or  more missing ones.

 

He had taken out vacation time to do this. Of course something would happen to screw it all up. It was time to retire. It really was time.  

 

Once Vitya woke up and got better, Yakov would resign as coach from the rink and place everything on the silver-haired Russian’s shoulders.

 

Let him handle the snarky attitudes of the Junior skaters and the emotional rollercoasters of the Senior skaters. Let Viktor deal with Georgi’s strange obsessions with his girlfriends, and Mila’s boy troubles with the hockey players, and Yura’s infatuation with Otabek and his snappy attitude that earned him hours of suicides on the ice everyday.

 

Let him handle it. He had that Japanese boy to share in the burden of keeping up with the rink. Katsuki had been born into a life of business and balance. He could rein Viktor in.

 

Yakov would only admit in his head that he trusted Vitya and his fiancee the most with keeping up the rink. As dumb and uncontrollable as Viktor could be sometimes, his heart was in the right place.

 

The couple had a love for the ice that transcended anything Yakov had ever seen before. Never had he trained such skaters as Viktor and Yuuri who held so much determination to win. With the exception of Yura, probably.

 

They had a relationship with each other and the ice that couldn’t be called anything in words. Their love was so complex, rooted so deeply within the grooves carved by their skates, that their love became one with that cold surface and was immortalized in the crystals glittering on its surface.

 

It ran through their veins with the blood. The ice was carried into their hearts. And not in a bad way. Their home was in each other and the rink they skated on. They would forever be a part of the ice.

 

Immortalized in it. Worshipped on it. Remembered by it.

 

The loud static of Gina’s intercom split the silence and jerked Yakov out of his thoughts. The olive-skinned woman jammed the button immediately. “Aaron. What’s going on down there? Anything from ATC yet?”

 

_“No, Gina, we’ve got a situation in the back. The passengers are starting to realize something’s up. The flight attendants don’t know what to do.”_

 

“Shit,” she snapped and turned on her heel toward the curtain down the way that separated commercial seating from economy. “Strap yourselves in. We don’t know what’s going to happen down there,” She warned them before disappearing through the heavy cloth panels.

 

Yakov had only ever been terrified twice in his life. First, when he was at the altar waiting for Lilia during their wedding so many years ago. He had been young. About 24 or 25 when he and Lilia had said their vows. Yakov had wanted the earth to swallow him whole so many times during the ceremony. He had been kept awake for nights wondering how marriage would change things between them.Would he lose his independence and freedom? Would he fall out of love with Lilia? Would he even be good enough for her?

 

Of course, the marriage hadn’t worked out so great, but it was really due to their careers that kept them long distance and emotionally separated. It had been a mutual decision to divorce. Yakov didn’t want to hold back the fiercely strong woman he’d fallen in love with. The ballerina had lit a fire in his heart that burned through his body and sang through his bones. He couldn’t let her be shadowed from her career. He couldn’t force her to wait for him.

 

But now, perhaps...with the retirement...maybe they could work things out again.

 

The second time he had ever felt tangible fear was when the Canadian doctor had announced to the waiting room that Viktor had slipped into a coma and was in critical condition. He had heard Yuuri let out a frightening wail and crumple to the ground.

 

He remembered Yura’s face white with fear as he tried to pull Katsuki off the floor, tears streaming from those green eyes and rolling down his cheeks. Yakov swore he could hear every one of those drops hit the ground even with Katsuki’s sickeningly pained screams echoing through the hospital.

 

Yakov shuddered.

 

And now he could feel the familiar weight settle like poisoned lead in his stomach. It tore through his veins, chasing his frantic heart as it beat through his chest like it wanted to rip through his body and escape. The terror was palpable. It spread like ice from his fingertips, up his arms, throughout his body.

 

He was paralyzed.

 

That was the worst part of terror- when your heart knows that something is about to happen. Something big and terrifying and dangerous. Something that can harm and hurt. When your heart can feel it happening, your brain shuts down. It submits to that fatal danger, rolls over belly up, holds you down, offers you up to the threat. And then all you can do is scream.

 

Yura was the one to snap him out of his dizzying thoughts. “ _Makka_ ,” the Russian boy snapped, seizing the poodle’s collar and dragging her away from the window. Viktor’s dog followed him obediently, not protesting the tight grip the boy had on her. Yura pushed her into her kennel shoved between their seats and the ones in front of them.

 

“Yakov!” The boy called to him. He was already tugging the safety belt around his hips, knees braced against Makkachin’s crate.

 

Yakov stumbled after him, the icy effects of his terror flooding his body, making his limbs sluggish and heavy. He collapsed into the seat, trembling. There was a hard jerk around his waist and he realized that the Russian boy had belted him in.

 

The plane titled sickeningly to the right, wing aiming down at the airport below. It circled the building, dropping lower and lower with each pass. Yakov’s stomach seemed to drop to his toes with every dip of the plane, like reaching the troughs of a roller coaster after a steep plunge. Every revolution around the building set a frantic pace in his heart. His chest burned something fierce at the onslaught of adrenaline and terror.

 

_“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. It is Aeroflot’s pleasure to announce our touching down in Toronto’s international airport…”_

 

Yakov could see the landing strip up ahead a few hundred feet below them. It was covered in thick black marks. Like skidding tire tracks. Like something had landed and realized its mistake a moment too late, trying to take off again and not reaching the momentum and speed to catch the air again...

 

_“The weather is forecast to be a bright and sunny 65 degrees after a couple scattered thunderstorms…”_

 

_A couple_ , Yakov mused as he watched the thickening clouds overhead turning from dark grey to almost black. Wind whipped through the trees below and the trunks swayed against the violent currents. The planes grounded at the airport were shaking slightly in the violent wind. They were like birds grasping the cable lines stretched between transformers. Braced and prepared to take flight at a moment’s notice.

 

_Except they’re not taking flight. Something’s happening. Something_ already _happened...and it’s about to happen again_.

 

Yakov seized his armrests as the panic swept anew through his body, more aggressive than before. It tore through his limbs and chest almost painfully. Like he was being ripped apart. Slowly.  If he leaned over, he would hurl all over the seats and Makkachin’s kennel. The image was preposterous enough to make him snort aloud.

 

Yura shot him a bewildered look.

 

_“Please remain seated until the plane has touched down on the landing tarmac and reached the designated docking station…”_

 

There was a shudder deep within the plane and a heavy clang echoed up from the metal below. The wheels had been released. They must’ve been moments from touching the ground because the rolling pavement had disappeared beneath them. Yakov anticipated the heavy jolt as the wheels connected with the tarmac.

 

His heart was slowing now. They were about to touch down on the landing strip. Nothing had happened to the plane. Nothing at all. What was all the fuss about?

 

The wind shoved against the plane’s metal body and the giant vessel careened slightly, listing side to side as the violent air shoved against it. Yakov sank his nails into the hard plastic of the armrests. They just needed to set down. The plane just needed to fucking touch the ground already…

 

The wheels shrieked on the heavy pavement below, the rubber trying desperately to keep up with the plane’s momentum as it thundered down the strip. The Russians jolted forward in their seats at the impact. Yakov rolled his head back and let it thump against the seat. Finally. They had made it safely to the ground.

 

All the panic and the frantic exchange between the co-pilot and flight attendant- unnecessary. They had made it. Air Traffic Control must have had technology issues. They were fine. Everyone was fine.

 

They would make it to the airport and then the hospital and see Viktor again…

 

“Yakov!” Yura shouted next to him, head whipping around at something disappearing behind them in the plane’s window. “Did you see that?”

 

The old man growled, keeping his eyes closed firmly. “ _What?!_ ”

 

He didn’t want to deal with any other unexpected news. Let them just get off the damn plane first!

 

“There were people in that plane! They were banging their fists on the windows and screaming at us!” The Russian boy cried, gripping his arm tightly.

 

Yakov shrugged him off. “You’re seeing things! Enough!”

 

The plane was slowing down on the strip, passing more and more grounded planes. Some of them had been run off into the grass. Yakov stared at them in wonder. Were they even supposed to be there? Surely that must be bad for the tires…

 

A scream shattered the inside of the plane. It was a shrieking, blood curdling cry that reanimated the flames in Yakov’s bones. His spine tingled, phantom waves of caution rolling through his body.

 

Screams of real panic were so different from the screams in the movies. There was something grated and wild about them, as if the body’s own soul was being released into the shout...

 

Yakov and Yuri looked out the window as they passed another grounded plane. It was a white delta jet buried in the grass. Yakov had ridden enough of these planes to recognize the triangular symbol painted on the body. It gave it away even though the letters of the plane had been ripped out of the metal.

 

The aircraft was a smoking mess. Most of its body had been gutted out as if something from inside had exploded outward. The insides were black and smoking. Seats had been melted together. Jagged pieces of metal were sticking out of the body like shards of glass. Other pieces littered the grass and tarmac around the plane.

 

Yakov remembered the news broadcast the flight attendant had pulled up on the plane’s tv screen.

 

_Parts of the city have become completely overrun with what officials are calling a large-scale terrorist attack…._

 

Oh god.

 

Yakov hunched over as the fear laced through his veins. It hurt. It hurt so bad. The terror was burning everywhere, even his fingertips. Like he was holding a burning candle to his skin, setting himself on fire…

 

There was another scream from ahead of them in the commercial seating. A clamour of voices suddenly rose up- voices of concern, of astonishment...and of fear splitting through the heavy dividing curtains.

 

The plane turned out of the landing strip and into the lot with the docking stations. The airport loomed above them outside the plane windows.

 

Chaos consumed the inside of the building. Through the windows, people were running in every direction, crashing into each other, pushing, and shoving. Their faces were twisted with panic, mouths gaping as they screamed.

 

Blood covered the tinted panes of glass, running down the smooth surface and dripping to the airport floor. There were cracks in some of the panes, big, circular tears in the glass like something heavy had been tossed into it.

 

Yura cried out next to him and seized his arm. Yakov hissed as the boy’s nails cut into his skin. “What the _fuck_ is going on!” The Russian boy shouted.

 

Yakov could only stare in fear at the pandemonium inside the airport. Some of the people inside seemed different...wild…

 

They weren’t sprinting away from any confusion. They were rambling toward the crowds of escaping, screaming people. He watched one man in a crisp business suit, suitcase still in hand, snap his head from side to side in strange jerking motions. It was like he was possessed. His limbs shuddered and wrenched in different directions like they had been connected to puppet strings.

 

The man whirled around as a younger boy, a teenager, rushed around him and toward the seats spread out in one of the boarding gates. The teenager sank beneath the chairs, scrambling to fit under the black leather.

 

The businessman followed him, limbs jerking wildly as he clambered after the younger gentleman.

 

Yakov leaned forward in his seat, squinting to see what was happening.

 

The brown-haired teenager had caught sight of the older man and was rushing backward, palms slapping against the slick floor as he moved away.

 

The business man suddenly lunged at him, throwing his body against the teenager. The two slammed hard into the glass windows. Yakov watched in terror as the businessman sank his teeth into the younger boy’s shoulder. Blood ran down the window in thick globes of red as the teenager was shoved harshly against the panes. The boy’s body began jerking.

 

Yakov turned his head away and yelled frantically down the plane. “ _TELL THE DAMNED PILOT TO TAKE OFF ALREADY!_ ”

 

The screams of the other passengers answered him.

 

Something was happening further down the building. Yakov strained against the seatbelt and peered up and around Yuri at the sight in the plane windows.

 

There was a crowd of people pressed up against one of the far glass panes of the airport. The window was covered in bloody handprints and slashes as the crowd behind it scrabbled and scratched at the smooth surface. There were so many of them stretching their arms and hands out, fingers curved like talons, mouths gaping and snarling. Thousands of milky blue eyes watched them, narrowed and predatorial.

 

A crack suddenly split the glass. Yakov swore he could hear it over the rumbling of the plane’s jet engines.

 

“Shit,” Yura whispered. “Shit shit shit. They’re trying to get _through_.”

 

The group of people were still scrabbling at the jagged glass and fresh blood spilled over the drying blood prints as fingers were sliced on the cracked shards.

 

They seemed mad and wild and mindless as they shoved against the barrier holding them back.

 

They could’ve been regular people. They could’ve been terrified, shrieking people trying to escape the bloodshed inside. They could’ve been desperate people watching the only working plane rumble before them behind a couple inches of glass.

 

But they weren’t regular people.

 

Something primal and old inside Yakov was stirring, warning him against a deadly threat. It was instinctual, a passing thought threading deep in his mind. It seized his heart and spread ice through his veins. He felt it like an unnatural calm sweeping over him as waves sweep over the sand shores on the beach. It froze his limbs. It made them loose. Both at once.

 

They were stilling, gathering momentum, energy.

 

He could do anything at any moment.

 

Yakov knew that at any moment, he could leap halfway down the plane, or tear through its walls, or rip the seats from the plane’s floor. He could do it all and then more.

 

Maybe this was actually what adrenaline felt like. Or maybe it was something more. Something ancient. Something his oldest ancestors possessed as they scoured the Siberian wilderness for hulking beasts with thick, dagger-like tusks…

 

The plane turned for a moment and Yakov caught a closer glimpse of the crowd inside.

 

It was the closest he would ever get.

 

The window shattered beneath the weight of hundreds of people pressing against it. They tumbled out in a pack of flailing limbs and twisting bodies.

 

Yakov winced as they slammed into the ground with sickening _smacks_. It sounded like bones breaking, like spines snapping. Most of them didn’t get up from their fall. They reached out to the plane with grasping fingers, broken spines paralyzing their bodies. The ones who made it had fallen on top of their broken brethren and were scrambling over the bodies.

 

The plane lurched sideways. Yakov heard a quiet noise over the intercom.

 

The pilot was finally getting the situation at hand through that thick skull of his.

 

Yakov gritted his teeth, fingers dancing on the armrests.

 

_Hurry_ , he snarled. _Hurry hurry hurry. Fucking GO!_

 

People were falling out the window one after the other. They plunged into the mountain of writhing bodies below them. The mass was getting bigger. They were noticing the rumbling plane as it finally turned tail to escape.

 

That was when Yakov heard the screeching.

 

Inhuman.

 

Guttural.

 

Grating.

 

It shattered through his eardrums. Unlike the cry of any beast from any country or designed from any movie. Something beyond explanation. It sent shudders through his body.

 

That primal force wheeled again.

 

_Danger_ , it screamed. _Danger!_

 

The plane was gaining speed.

 

_Too slow. Too slow. Too slow._

 

It whipped around the corner, back onto the landing strip.

 

The screams from the other passengers were mixing in with the screeching Yakov still heard deep in his mind, repeating, echoing, like a child moving the needle back and forth on a record player and letting the sound shriek...  

 

Over and over and over again.

 

Grating.

 

Inhuman.

 

Monstrous.

 

Terrifying.

 

The panic and adrenaline swept through him strongly. If he wasn’t already belted into his seat, Yakov would’ve plunged to the floor and writhed with the emotions pounding for dominance through his body.

 

The plane was tearing down the runway.

 

But not fast enough.

 

Not fast enough.

 

Low on fuel.

 

Caught by surprise.

 

Controlled by terrified pilots.

 

They were variables in an equation Yakov didn’t want to calculate. The answer would be chaos. Destruction. Death.

 

God. They were going to _die_ . They were going to die on this plane. Every single fucking _one of them_.

 

Yakov’s nails cut into the plastic armrests. The skin beneath his nails split and his fingers slipped on the blood staining the arm rests.

 

The plane was roaring down the runway. Running parallel to them were crowds of people. There were hundreds of them, maybe thousands of them rolling at an angle to the plane. They were all tearing through the grass at top speed, fingers curled, teeth bared.

 

There were so many of them. Surely they couldn’t have all been in that airport…

 

The gutted planes answered.

 

Yakov watched in horror as the grounded planes, the ones that seemed lifeless, people-less, were being torn from inside out. People clawed out of the wrecked metal bodies. It was like something out of an _Alien_ movie, except the chestbursters were screaming, mindless _people_.

 

They weren’t going to make it. They weren’t going to make it into the air.

 

The planes ahead of them were filled with people racing head-on toward the rumbling plane. Not stopping.

 

The pilot seemed to have noticed them too.

 

The plane suddenly lifted into the air.

 

Yakov’s stomach hurtled in his body.

 

There hadn’t been enough speed for a smooth take-off. Planes were supposed to gradually lift into the air. One could feel the shifts in their stomach as they climbed through layers of air and weather and wind currents. The plane cut through them all and the stomach balanced itself out along the way.

 

But this wasn’t an easy take-off.

 

The plane didn’t slice through the air like butter.

 

Air resistance and gravity slammed down on the giant metal body, pulling it down again. The plane dipped and shuddered, wings swaying up and down as if the plane was suddenly about to roll right off the tarmac. The wheels smacked at the pavement below, rubber piercing and shrieking against the cement.

 

Shit.

 

Shit shit shit.

 

Yakov’s stomach rolled.

 

There was a heavy jolt.

 

Something had run into the plane.

 

Yakov’s heart stopped.

 

The running people. They had caught up to the plane. It’s failed take-off had given them the chance to catch up.

***

 

The wheels of the plane protested the added weight as the faster members of the crowd grappled at the rolling rubber. The pavement below was slathered with blood as fingers and hands slipped off the metal bars that lowered and raised the landing gear and the writhing bodies were plunged into the racing wheels below and ripped apart.

 

But there were enough survivors that scrambled over the hanging remains of their brothers and sisters. They scratched at the metal bars, pulling themselves up the landing gear and into the cargo hold of the aircraft.

 

The plane rolled along the tarmac for a few moments and then lifted off again. The back end of the jet, scraped slightly against the ground and the metal pierced the ears of the passengers, shrouding the howls and shrieks of the dangling monsters grasping the landing gear of the plane.

 

The engines in the back had been compromised by the brief crash with the ground. Broken, dented metal whirled confusedly, trying to burn fuel even through its spiral into destruction. The plane was already thousands of feet into the air when the jets let out broken chokes and sputters.

 

A jagged piece of metal that had been broken against the ground was torn away from the engine and sucked inside it, tearing wildly at the delicate interior. The fuel was sucked back into the tanks and released again, igniting with the heat of the metal wreaking destruction on the engine.

 

An explosion destroyed what was left of the dying jet.

 

The plane dropped hundreds of feet and the other intact engines protested the sudden burden.

 

These engines would fail too.

 

But not before the mindless demons tore through the LDMCR cargo hold after being raised inside with the landing gear. A few of the crew were strapped into some of the seats, having heard the destruction of the back fuel tank and prepared for an emergency landing. They whipped around, eyes widening at the mass of people tearing after them, growling and screeching.

 

The crew screamed and tugged futilely against their seatbelts. Fear froze their fingers and made them stutter against their bonds. Their brains forgot the clasps and buckles of the straps they were trained to be able to put on and take off in seconds.

 

They were attacked by the crowd from the airport.

 

The mindless beings tore at their bodies, nails ripping savagely into their warm skin. Teeth sank deep into necks and shoulders with the spray of blood from severed, spraying arteries. Cracks of bones accompanied the ripping teeth. Some members of the crew slumped to the floor, automatically dead as their necks were snapped by the furious onslaught. They were covered by hungry bodies that ripped savagely into the meal no longer protesting and fighting against them.

 

One of the crew members escaped his buckles and sprinted for the door that led into the main cabin. He jammed the green button over and over and over again to open the door, head whipping back and forth between the buttons and the killers ripping into their meals.

 

One of the demons raised his head, mouth smeared with blood and chunks of flesh. He snarled and lunged at the frantic crew member, teeth catching at the man’s palm before the man was able to escape into the door.

 

The crewman let out a shaky sigh of relief, collapsing against the ladder that led up into the main cabin with the passengers. He had to warn the captain. The pilot had to know. The terrorists had followed them on board. The crazy, cannibalistic terrorists had infiltrated the plane.

 

The crewman turned to the ladder, eyes swimming. The rungs were twisting, flipping, doubling before his glazing eyes.

 

He felt something in his brain snap.

 

Cold swept through his body, seizing his veins, tearing at his blood cells with fire. He wanted to scream at the agony of it racing through his body. It was _poison._

 

_Disease_.

 

His blood was boiling inside his body, cooking him from the inside out.

 

The man threw back his head, the corded muscles of his neck tightening. God he wanted to scream! To yell out at the pain burning his body. It felt like he was on fire. Like there were flames licking his skin, melting the flesh off his bones.

 

His spine bowed as the disease spread all over. He could feel it in every inch and remote corner of his body. Every cell seemed to explode as it was taken over by the virus and destroyed.

 

He could feel it travelling into his heart, into his brain, shutting down his thoughts, shutting down the pain coursing through his body, shutting down emotion-

 

A memory suddenly overtook him.

 

Milky blue eyes snapped open and the man saw his wife standing before him.

 

_“Did you get the candles, Pyotr?” She whispered quietly, mouth curving into a beautiful smile that made his heart race._

 

_“Oh. Oh no! Oh no!” he feigned shocked panic, hands patting the pockets of his coat and pants as if looking for something he knew wasn’t there._

 

_His wife’s eyebrows rose, mouth opening. Probably to scold him for forgetting the candles. She had been texting him every hour of today reminding him to stop at the grocery store to pick up a pack of pink ones._

 

_But he hadn’t forgotten at all. The heavy wax candle was still in his pant’s pocket. His fingers stroked the the curve of the number ‘8’ nestled safely in a napkin._

 

_“Pyotr…” His wife began. The syllables were a long and drawn out moan. She was going to get exasperated. She was going to point her finger at him and accuse him in fast German about what a dumb idiot he was for forgetting something he had been reminded about many times._

 

_He grinned and slid his arms around her waist, tucking her face against the stubble on his chin and cheeks. He rubbed the bristly hairs against her skin, laughing at her pouting protests._

 

_“I wouldn’t forget,” he crooned against the warmth of her body against his and the shampoo scent of her hair. “Our dear Ana. Eight years old. She grows up too fast.”_

 

_His wife went limp against him. She slid her arms up his waist, trailing her fingers up his back to wrap around his neck. She curled her fingers into the curls of his hair and pressed a gentle kiss to his stubbly chin. “Come on,” she murmured, kissing his skin again and again and again with sweet little pecks. “Let’s go give our little girl her cake.”_

 

_She pulled away from him and grabbed the dessert she had made earlier that day from off the counter. It was beautiful. Pink swirls of frosting decorated the perimeter of the cake layered in a smooth coat of yellow frosting. Green letters spelled out ‘Happy Birthday, Dear Ana!’ in the center._

 

_Pyotr swiped a finger over the side of the cake and plunged the sweet frosting into his mouth. His wife growled at him fondly and shoved him aside with her swaying hips. She disappeared through the kitchen door and he followed after her, grinning._

 

_There was his daughter seated at the table. Her blond hair had been braided elegantly by her mother and it swept over her shoulder. She wore a green birthday hat over her head and it sparkled in the warm light of the dining room._

 

_Ana’s eyes shimmered with delight as her parents swung out of the kitchen graced with her birthday cake. Pyotr’s smile softened at his daughter’s excitement. He pulled the candle out of his pocket and pushed it into the sweet spongy bread and frosting._

 

_Pyotr leaned down and kissed his daughter’s temple. She turned to nuzzle their noses together._

 

_‘Eskimo kisses,’ She used to shout at him as a young toddler, arms over her head in a demand to be picked up, foot stomping the ground when he didn’t do it fast enough. ‘Want eskimo kisses, Papa.’ And he would swing her up off the floor to the sound of her peals of laughter and cover her face with little eskimo kisses._

 

_“My little girl,” he grinned and tugged gently at her braid. She answered him with a giggle and a flash of the hazel eyes she got directly from her mother as she pushed lightly at his hands._

 

_“I love you, papa.”_

 

Pyotr whimpered as the memory began to fade into the blackness taking over his mind. His milky eyes flashed momentarily with pain.

 

_Don’t take her away from me_ , he begged the disease tearing through his body. It was winning. Shutting him down. _Please don’t take my little girl away. Please..._

 

“Ana,” he choked through the squeezing of his throat. His muscles clamped down against the words. They were becoming alien to him. He was forgetting how they sounded in his mouth.

 

“I love...I….ove….I…”

 

The darkness closed over his mind and flooded his eyes with black.

 

Pyotr chased the memory of his daughter and his wife in his last moments, sinking into the momentary light of their presence in his mind before he faded away and gave into the disease…

 

*******

 

Yuuri studied the truck as he and Chris crept toward it, slow and with caution. His heart was tearing through his chest, mind unhelpfully cycling through the memories of that woman smashing her skull into the windshield of the van. He didn’t want to be attacked by whatever had dragged off those firefighters.

 

He stepped carefully onto the gravel shoulder of the road, wincing as the rocks cracked under his feet and echoed around the trees. Chris stepped closer to his shoulder as if he sensed Yuuri’s discomfort. Out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri could see the Swiss man’s green eyes locked on the red vehicle, alert and focused.

 

He was evermore grateful that Chris was with him now.

 

They circled slightly around the truck to peer through the swinging door into the front cabin. The blood that had sprayed the windows also covered the leather seats. Red handprints were scattered all over the upholstery, misshapen and smeared, as if the person had been dragged out.

 

The opposite window on the passenger side had been shattered beyond repair. Blood covered the jagged pieces of glass still intact in the window frames.

 

The firefighters must have been dragged out that window.

 

Yuuri winced but refused to let his mind imagine what exactly must have happened. He collapsed against the side of the truck and began pulling at the compartments on the side to see if any would open.

 

The was a sharp _clang_ and the doors to the lowest compartment swung out.

 

Chris hissed and jumped back, eyes scanning the woods behind the fire truck. “Can we be any louder right now?” The Swiss man growled under his breath.

 

Yuuri shot him a glare. “Would you stop overreacting? Whatever came here isn’t here anymore. We’re _fine_ , Chris, now help me!”

 

The blond man huffed and sank to his knees next to Yuuri. “Forgive me for being scared out of my fucking mind,” He snapped. “I just saw people getting _mauled_ in that godforsaken city. I’m just worried about you, Yuuri. And I’m terrified right now. It feels unsafe here. It really does.”

 

Yuuri sighed. “I know, Chris. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m scared too right now. I have no idea what’s happening right now...or what _will_ happen. All I know is that my instincts are screaming at me to get things together...supplies. We don’t know what we’ll lose when this is all over. Better to be prepared now than sorry later.”

 

Chris held the compartment doors open as Yuuri rummaged inside. “Do you think it will come to that? Complete anarchy?”

 

Yuuri squinted into the dark space, hands reaching far back into the storage area. “I really hope that it won’t come to that,” He leaned back for a moment on his knees. “But seeing those...those _monsters_ just ravage the city like that…” Yuuri’s voice trailed off and he bit his lip, brown eyes swimming with worry. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

 

“God. I just hope this isn’t a global thing. Let it stay in Canada.” Chris whispered.

 

Yuuri frowned and leaned over to search the other side of the compartment. His hands paused at the feeling of rough fabric against his skin. He scrambled to pull the heavy bag out of the storage space and onto the pavement.

 

It was a long, dark red bag with the white letters ‘first aid’ stitched onto the front.

 

Yuuri pulled at the zipper and pushed the top away to peer inside.

 

There were a few rolls of beige-colored gauze, pads, alcohol wipes, triangular bandages, nitrile gloves, a small jar of petroleum jelly, trauma scissors, and a black sharpie marker in the bag. He pushed aside the bandages and found a small tin tucked away in another pocket inside. The tin was filled with ibuprofen packets, a tube of antibiotic ointment, and diphenhydramine caplets.

 

Yuuri sighed with relief and zipped the bag closed. “We’ll take this back with us to the RV.”

 

“The whole thing?” Chris questioned. “What if someone needs it?”

 

Yuuri frowned at him. “No one’s coming back for this and no one cares if we take it. Chris...we’re fending for ourselves out here. We’re literally trying to save our lives. We’ll need all the supplies we can get.”

 

“I know...I know. I’m sorry. I think my brain just doesn’t want to accept that the world is ending right now.”

 

“Maybe not the whole world,” Yuuri smiled at him gently.

 

Chris sucked in a sharp breath.

 

He’d never really noticed how beautiful Yuuri was until now. At their skating competitions, the Japanese boy was shy and bashful and easy to tease. But now, with Yuuri’s eyebrows drawn together with determination, eyes scared yet focused, voice quiet yet firm, he was absolutely alluring.

 

“Chris?”

 

The sound of his name snapped the Swiss man out of his thoughts. He bit his lip, meeting Yuuri’s concerned eyes. These new feelings...whatever they entailed...would have to be locked away in his brain for now until he could sort through them later. Right now he needed to focus on their survival.

 

“Sorry,” Chris murmured. “I was just...thinking.”

 

Yuuri searched his eyes for a moment before nodding. “Alright. Let’s see if there’s anything else in here before we head back.”

 

The Japanese man leaned back into the compartment. Behind the medical bag was a silver toolbox that Yuuri dragged out as well. Chris helped him set the heavy kit in the grass. They popped the metal top off the box.

 

There were three triangle reflectors inside, a small fire extinguisher, three flares, and a heavy black flashlight. Yuuri tested the button on the flashlight and it shined bright on the road even in the sunlight. He tucked it away into the toolbox. “We’ll take this with us too.”

 

Chris helped him lug their scavenged items into the RV. They stacked the supplies against the storage bin they’d gone through from the bathroom cupboard.

 

Chris turned to climb into the passenger seat and froze as he caught sight of Yuuri gazing out the front window at the fire truck on the other side of the road. “Yuuri,” he warned lowly. “Yuuri, we’re not going back over there. We have what we need and now we need to go.”

 

The Japanese man turned, face pale with anxiety. “But what if we missed something important? What if there’s something in there that we need later on? I mean, there could be water left in the tanks, or other medical supplies, perhaps weapons or…”

 

Chris stepped toward him and gripped Yuuri’s shoulders tightly.

 

“We have water in this RV, enough to last us through enough of this hell to find more later when we need it. We have medical supplies, enough for cuts and broken arms and fevers. We aren’t finding a hospital in that truck. As for weapons...we’ll cross _that_ bridge when we get to it, but Yuuri,” He squeezed tighter until he heard a quiet hitch of breath from the other man, “we need to _leave._ You told me that you were following your instincts out there. Now I’m following _mine_ and it’s telling me that we need to get out of here.”

 

Chris looked imploringly into those pretty burgundy eyes. He rested his palm against Yuuri’s cheek, stroking the skin of his jaw with his thumb. “ _Please_ , Yuuri.”

 

The Japanese man stared at him in wonderment. He blinked slowly, eyes darting between Chris’s emerald eyes and the fingers stroking his skin. “Ok,” he whispered and stepped out of the Swiss man’s embrace. “Ok. We’ll go. I just need to do something first.”

 

He turned around abruptly and missed Chris’s frozen form behind him, arm raised as if still holding Yuuri’s face.

 

Yuuri swung out of the RV, fingers clasped tightly around the Sharpie marker he’d taken from the medical bag. He uncapped it as he neared the side of the truck and stroked the red and white paint, wondering where the best place to write would be. He settled on the thick white line bordering the side of the vehicle and wrapping around to the front where the cabin was.

 

Yuuri leaned over slightly, biting his lip as he spelt out the letters.

 

**Heading North Toward The Lake, Vitya.**

**Come Home.**

**-Yuuri**

 

He spelt out his name in Katakana and stepped back to look at the message. The black letters stood out starkly against the white paint of the fire truck. It was a desperate hope...but he imagined that Viktor would somehow find it.

 

Yuuri bit his lip and smiled before drawing a small poodle next to his name.

 

Now Viktor would know that this message was for him if the diminutive of his name or Yuuri’s name spelled in Japanese didn’t make it clear enough.

 

He capped the marker and slipped it into his pocket before swinging up and into the RV. Yuuri turned the key in the ignition, feeling his chest grow lighter than he’d felt in months. Somehow writing out his message to Viktor was enough to give him hope...

 

The RV rumbled to life and he swung it back onto the road. It gained speed with a quiet roar as they shot down the pavement.

 

Chris collapsed in the passenger seat next to him, eyes faraway on the road. The Swiss man was playing absentmindedly with his fingers, stroking the skin of his thumb that still tingled where it had been carressing Yuuri’s cheek.

 

“Chris!” Yuuri suddenly gasped next to him. The Swiss man snapped out of his turmoiled thoughts, heart picking up speed in his chest at the alarm in the other man’s voice.

 

“Look,” Yuuri pointed at his side mirror.

 

The fire truck was disappearing from view as they raced away from it. But right next to the red vehicle, a figure stood, limbs twitching and jerking, head snapping from side to side as if sniffing the air for a hiding scent. It walked out into the middle of the road.

 

Chris got the uncanny sensation that it was watching them disappear down the street.

 

The RV turned at the curve in the road ahead. The fire truck and the figure disappeared entirely out of the mirror. But they weren’t far enough away to escape the ear-shattering shriek that split the air and echoed after them.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. So Chris's boyfriend is non-existent in this universe (wink wink hint hint).
> 
> If anyone is confused by the term LDMCR:  
> It stands for 'Lower Deck Mobile Crew Rests.' Think of it as a cabin space that the plane staff can sleep in and use during long flight hours to rest and refuel. Sometimes the cargo/baggage bay connects to it. There's usually a door or elevator that it connects it to the main cabin where commercial seating is.
> 
> Also I'm researching a lot for this fan fiction. Most of these survival hacks or tips are real. Seriously guys, if you ever find yourselves in the middle of an apocalypse or really any emergency or natural disaster, firetrucks, ambulances, and other emergency vehicles (abandoned ones) are great go-tos to find medical supplies or supplies in general. There are compartments in firetrucks that require an extensively packed first aid kit or toolbox. These firefighters are responders on the scenes of accidents, so they must be prepared for quite a lot of things. Fire trucks in general are just really well equipped...
> 
> Thank you guys so much for reading, kudo-ing, and commenting!!! You guys are the greatest <3 
> 
> The next chapter is pretty much a continuation of this one. Think of it as a part 2. The danger isn't over yet, people. Keep that in mind....


	5. Wildfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri and Chris investigate the ruins of a crashed plane...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emerges from the void of the forgotten with a long-awaited chapter...
> 
> As always...
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: lots of blood, brains, and gore

“How did you know to look for that supply box in the fire truck back there?” Chris murmured from the floor of the RV.

The supplies they’d scavenged were spread out all around him as he sorted through the contents of the different boxes. There were stacks of cans, packets of dried food, water bottles, medical items they’d taken from the truck, and the scant weapons and ammo scrounged up from their hiding places throughout the RV. Chris numbered each item on a piece of paper, partly to keep an organized catalog of the supplies they had so they could start a ration, and partly because he needed to keep his mind focused on something if only to ignore the memories of burning cars, bloodshed, and monsters.

“Phichit and I once took a self-defense and survival class back in Detroit. We had both moved to America from foreign countries and heard so many horror stories online about crime rates and violence and people who thought foreigners were unwelcome there,” Yuuri smiled. “I mean, you can’t really blame us for wanting to be safe so far from home. Phichit was the one who suggested it. The fire truck was one of the places the teachers told us would have higher-grade medical supplies than most pharmacy first-aid kits.”

Chris chuckled and set aside a handful of brown packets, each marked ‘ **MRE’** on the fronts. Most of them were beef ravioli, chili with beans, and chili macaroni meals, which didn’t seem very appetizing. But in the situation Chris and Yuuri were in, they would have to make do without five star gourmet. He recorded the number ‘12’ on a sheet of paper before moving onto the next items he’d pulled out of the cupboards. “What was the class like?”

“It was interesting. The one we did was a 12-week course on the campus where we took college classes. Half of the course was designed to give us wilderness and natural disaster tips. The other half was hands-on self-defense training.”

Chris moved aside the triangle reflectors and reached for the stacked cans of fruit, beans, and tuna. “That’s interesting. I’ve never even thought about taking one of those before. It would have certainly helped in all those competitions where fans went a little nuts and escaped security. I guess it’s too late now, huh?”

Yuuri smirked at him in the mirror. “I’ll teach you everything you need to know. Don’t worry.”

Chris’s heart fluttered madly in his chest at the captivating brown eyes glinting at him. This was Yuuri’s Eros. Smoldering intensity, passion, confidence. It was no wonder he’d captivated a living legend and millions of fans worldwide with his intensity. Yuuri was truly a work of art, a _magnifique,_ enthralling adonis sculpted from the finest marble. Had Chris been a renowned artist able to translate those features to canvas or clay, he would be like Pygmalion, unable to resist the beauty of his creation.

_That sounds like something Viktor would say_ , his mind unhelpfully brought his attention to the one person standing in the way of the beginnings of this relationship.

Chris sank his nails into his palms and gritted his teeth.

God, he was such an awful person for thinking this way. Viktor had been gone for less than three weeks and Chris was already trying to moon on his fiancee.

Pain splintered in his chest at the memory of Viktor’s pale body in the hospital bed. The figure skater had  already looked like a corpse, small and emaciated and sick, shrouded in white hospital blankets, dark circles lining his eyes....

He was probably dead now.

The thought sickened him. He wondered how the hospital had been taken over by those awful monsters. He wondered if they had happened upon Viktor. The poor man probably hadn’t even realized when the monsters set on him. Or perhaps the stories were true about coma victims being able to hear and feel everything while paralyzed in their beds. If so, then that would be worse- feeling the flesh torn from the bones while unable to move or scream or...

_"Holy shit_ ,” Yuuri cried from the driver’s seat. Chris buried the thoughts of Viktor deep in his mind. He would go over the state of their relationship later.

The Swiss man stumbled to his feet and collapsed against the passenger seat of the RV. “What? What is it?”

Yuuri pointed through the windshield into the sky.

It was a giant silver and blue plane soaring over the treetops.

Chris saw planes land all the time. He’d been on more than he’d have liked to in his lifetime. As a figure skater, one developed an intimate relationship with both the ice and the air. It wasn’t necessarily strange for aircrafts to be seen up close as they made their gradual descent to the ground at a nearby airport.

Black smoke, however, poured from the screaming jets of this plane as they lugged the metal body of the aircraft along. And there was no airport around for such a large aircraft to land. The plane was huge, 7 times the length of their RV alone, and skinning its metal body on the branches around it.

Leaves, sticks, and dust swirled around them, smacking against the RV windows like the sound of pattering rain. The RV shuddered and rocked as the giant airplane’s wings slit the air around the vehicle with great gales of hot wind. The tires of the vehicle scrambled on the pavement, creating marks in the asphalt below as the rubber protested the sudden braking.

The great metal beast above them shuddered, and if Chris squinted at the plane hard enough, he could see the lights in the cabin flickering on and off.

The Swiss man squeezed the leather of his chair.

The plane was _crashing_.

The noise of its graceless fall through the air was like a piercing whistle, grating in Chris’s and Yuuri’s ears as the plane disappeared out of sight.

The RV skidded to a stop and there was a moment of silence in which only Chris’s and Yuuri’s labored breathing heated the air with anticipatory tension.

A sudden deafening _BOOM_ sounded over the treetops.

Chris clapped his hands over his ears, but the sound of metal striking earth, rock, and trees cut through his eardrums and threatened to make them bleed. Metal screamed as the plane collapsed in on itself, a thousand times louder and more shrill than a car crash.

Over the trees, a bright plume of orange fire exploded upward, along with black smoke that rose and disappeared into the dark stormy sky.

The two skaters sat in stunned silence.

Yuuri made the first move, throwing the RV into gear and shooting off down the road in the direction of the shuddering flames. Chris seized his shoulder. “What the fuck are you doing?! Stop!”

Yuuri ignored him, determined eyes set upon sending the vehicle hurtling toward the crashed airplane. “There could be people in need. Survivors. We have medical supplies now, Chris. Not a lot, but certainly enough to help. Who knows when paramedics will get there!”

Chris threw his body into the passenger seat. “They’re probably dead, Yuuri. Just like those people on the road. Just like those firefighters. And just like us if you don’t turn the hell around!”

Yuuri shot him a glare. “‘Probably’ isn’t ‘exactly. That’s no excuse to just leave people to die.”

“Yuuri, we can’t afford to care. We’re on our own. This is _survival_ ,” Chris seized his shoulder, digging his fingers into the warmth of Yuuri’s skin until he felt the Japanese man flinch beneath him.

Burgundy eyes met his with pitiful understanding. “You act like the world’s already in anarchy, Chris,” Yuuri whispered quietly, biting his pink bottom lip.

Chris followed the movement with heated eyes, cursing himself internally for the inappropriate thoughts coursing through his mind. With a sigh, he released his vice like grip and leaned away. “For all we know, it is in anarchy.”

The Swiss man seemed to crumple in on himself, tears dancing at the corners of his eyes. Fear swamped the beautiful depths with shadow. “Fine. We’ll go check it out. But after this, we’re done, Yuuri. We’re done putting ourselves at risk by throwing ourselves into dangerous situations. We’re done helping. If we want to survive what’s to come, we have to change. I have a feeling that the world isn’t going to be the same from now on, and we have to be ready for when that happens.”

 

***

 

The screaming rose up from the cabin below them and echoed down the body of the plane. Yakov seized Yuri’s shoulder with a gasp. The old man looked seconds away from cardiac arrest, beady eyes wide and frightened where they were embedded in his face.

Makkachin whined from her crate, nails scrabbling against the plastic as she fought to stand and failed. Yuri hushed her but he had the uncanny feeling that his garbled words of comfort to the dog probably matched her cries.

Yellow oxygen masks clattered in their faces from where they were released overhead. Yakov grasped for them madly, throwing one of the devices over his mouth with a grunt. Yuri wondered if it was just precaution. Were oxygen masks needed when they were only a few miles in the air? Were they needed when the ground was already hurtling toward them at an alarming rate?

What a strange thing to say, that the earth is hurtling for the plane rather than the plane crashing down to the earth.

“Yuri!” Yakov barked. “Put your mask on!”

Yuri had never heard Yakov sound so terrified in all his life. The words had come out hoarse and cracked, as if the old man had spoken for the first time in years, forcing the syllables out as if they were unfamiliar to him. Yuri himself had never felt such a debilitating mass of fear in all his life. He’d never needed to be scared before. Not scared for his life anyway. And at the rate the plane was crashing, he wouldn’t be feeling fear for much longer.

The thought shocked him to his core.

_I’m going to die today._

_At sixteen years old, I’ll be dead and they’ll find my body in the wreckage with an old man and another old man’s dog._

_What will grandpa think? What will happen to him once they tell him of my death? How is he supposed to live on when the last thing that’s given him meaning is gone?_

Grandpa. Who was literally thousands of miles away, probably in bed sleeping, moaning and cursing in his dreams as his back twinges and aches. He will sleep and dream and not even realize that Yuri will die once the plane hits the ground.

Yuri sobbed low in his throat.

What kind of world was so cruel that it let grandchildren die before their grandparents? What kind of world was so cruel that it let monsters roam the streets, feasting on people without a second thought?

The oxygen mask slipped over his nose. He felt the shaking of Yakov’s warm fingers as they left his face.

Yuri felt a rush of gratitude for his coach.

Even though the old geezer was annoying and had popped more blood vessels in his eyes from screaming than the number of years Yuri was old, Yakov was family and looked out for him.

The thought cleared his mind. The oxygen filtering through the mask probably helped.

The yellow device covering his mouth and nose smelled like latex. The oxygen filtering through it didn’t smell like anything, of course, but it seemed drier than normal air. It was constricting, though. Here he was, strapped to the plane by a cord filtering oxygen into his system while the aircraft sped toward the ground at hundreds of miles an hour.

_You need to get in the brace position_ , a helpful voice in his head reminded him.

Yuri scooted up, folding his hands on the seat in front of him like in the pictures shown in the emergency card he’d read before takeoff. It seemed more comfortable and less likely to break his nose than just slumping against the seat.

When Yuri turned, he found Yakov doing the same.

Green eyes shifted downward, resting on the plastic of Makkachin’s crate. The dog had gone quiet in her cage, probably realizing the weight of the situation they were in. In fact, the screaming in the plane had stopped and now there was just surreal silence as the plane headed for the ground. Perhaps everyone had finally accepted that nothing would stop the crash.

Better to live out one’s final moments in weightless silence than manic shouting.

Yuri traced patterns out of the raised texture of Makkachin’s crate, mentally counting down the seconds as the plane screamed down to earth.

_Why is it taking so long?_

Perhaps plane crashes were slow to give victims ample time to say their goodbyes, live their regrets, and cherish last memories.

The thought sat low in his gut like a rock sinking languidly through water.

Yuri’s ears caught soft whispering and he turned his head just slightly enough to watch Yakov, eyes squeezed shut, mouth murmuring words...of prayer, regret, longing, thanks? Yuri didn’t know. But he heard the name ‘Lilia’ among the quiet syllables.

Tears pricked the corners of Yuri’s eyes.

He turned away and back to picking out patterns from the lines on Makkachin’s crate.

_What am I thankful for?_

_Grandpa. His love, his patience, his staying with me through all those years of hell. I was an orphan child angry at the world for taking his parents away and he took me in. God, Grandpa didn’t even make me feel guilty for mourning my parents and not letting him grieve for his kids. He put me first, before his sadness for them. He gave his unconditional love for an angry tiger of a child._

_Yakov. For being the only coach willing to take such a young thing under his wing and bring him to train at the best skating facility in the world. He recognized that I was good the moment I set foot on the ice. He’s an annoying old geezer, but he brought me farther in my career than I ever could’ve imagined. His training is the only reason I can pay grandpa back for all those years. His training is the only reason grandpa and I aren’t starving on the streets._

_Viktor. God, that old man. For forgetting about everything. For having a memory worse than a goldfish. He choreographed the program that won me gold at the Grand Prix. He gave me a program that I didn’t want to see or feel but am thankful for now. Agape. The love a parent has for their child and the love a child has for their parent. In some ways, Grandpa is my only parent. In some ways, Viktor is also a parent, annoying as he is, for seeing the fire inside me as a way to hide my grief and longing for a family and for love._

_Yuuri. Katsudon. The pig. For giving me a reason to give my all. For giving me a reason to show my Agape to the world. For recognizing me as a fellow competitor and not just a little kid with dreams too big to fill his skates. For being the one to deal with all my shit and be unphased by my challenge. For giving me a home I’ve never had before in Hasetsu, Japan. For giving me a family I never thought I’d be able to have._

_My name is Yuri Vladimirovich Plisetsky._

30 seconds to impact.

_I’m a two-time consecutive Junior World and Junior Grand Prix Gold Medalist_

26 seconds.

_I was the Senior Grand Prix Final Champion._

23 seconds.

_People call me the Russian Fairy._

20 seconds.

_I call myself the Ice Tiger of Russia._

17 seconds.

_My best friend is Otabek._

15 seconds.

_I love grandpa._

14 seconds.

_I love my cat, Potya._

12 seconds.

_I love Yakov. And Viktor. And Katsudon._

9

_I’m afraid._

8

_I didn’t get to say goodbye._

6

_I don’t want to die._

4

_But at least I got to know_

3

_Love_

2

_And family_

1

_Agape._

 

***

 

“Shit,” Chris swore quietly under his breath as the wreckage of the plane appeared through the trees. He leaned forward, watching the smoke and fire spiral up into the sky from the hulking metal skeleton. “How could anyone have survived this?”

Yuuri could only agree as he surveyed the damage. He pulled the RV over into a copse of trees so it was partially hidden from sight. Chris handed him the hunting knife Yuuri had armed himself with back at the fire truck. Chris gripped the handle of his own knife. It was a small switchblade, the handle and knife combined only about 8 or 9 inches long. He must’ve found it in the supply bucket or bags.

“I thought those were illegal here,” Yuuri murmured grimly, eyeing the knife in Chris’s hands as it glinted.

“Looks like our RV owner was more preoccupied with survival than the law,” the Swiss man answered and closed the blade back into the handle before slipping it into his pocket. “Ready?”

Yuuri nodded and followed Chris as he tugged the door to the RV open.

Yuuri’s heart pumped loudly in his chest, so loud he could hear its drum under the cracking of the flames ahead. The heat from the wreckage exploded outward as soon as the door opened, blasting both skaters in the face with air so hot, it threatened to singe the hair off their eyebrows.

Yuuri coughed into his shirt as the debilitating scent of smoke flooded his lungs with ash and chemicals. It was so overpowering that he doubled over in pain, throat burning as if a scorpion was nesting there and stinging him repeatedly. Already his chest seemed to cave in as the fiery smoke tore through the tendons and flesh and melted them like the fire melted the wreckage of the plane.

“Cover your mouth,” Chris ordered, voice muffled by the shirt practically stuffed into his mouth.

Yuuri pulled the sleeve of his shirt over his nose and mouth, breathing in the smoke and sweat-stained material. But just beneath the heavy, eye-watering scents bathed in the fabric, he could pick up the slight underlying smell of the detergent he and Viktor washed their clothes with- flowery, fresh, clean.

_Viktor…_

Yuuri’s eyes burned, from the heat, the smoke, the disappearing scent of his lover whom was lost somewhere in a city overridden with monsters.

Yuuri ducked his head into the cloth, hiding the tears that spilled down his cheeks. His heart pumped painfully in his chest, as if the cavity it was in was filled with shards of glass.

The two skaters staggered closer to the burning flames, feeling with every step the air around them heating up a few degrees more.

Yuuri kept his eyes peeled for movement. Survivors...even monsters.

But the only thing that shifted in the clearing were the dancing flames in the plane and the trees around them.

The aircraft had been broken and smashed into multiple pieces. The body of it was huge, easily capable of holding more than one level and cabin. The tail and end piece of the aircraft were missing, and if Yuuri had a guess as to where they were, they must’ve been hundreds of feet away over the trees behind them where a giant smoking gap could be seen in the foliage.

The front of the plane was emaciated beyond repair. Half of it had smashed deep into the ground, and the impact had crumpled it as easily as one could crush a soda can. The windows in the nose of the plane had also shattered, and the glass littered the soil around the crumbled piece, glinting amber and gold as it reflected the flames.

The body had been split into three pieces. One had crushed the canopy of a few trees far ahead. Yuuri shuddered at the sight of the metal body, pierced all over with hundreds of branches. It looked like a porcupine with wooden quills jutting everywhere out of its silver and blue body. Blood had spattered on what windows remained remarkably intact. More of the red liquid seeped out of the cracks and holes of the plane.

The other two pieces were buried in the dirt. They had skidded along the ground, picking up loads of soil until they eventually stopped, pressed up against the trees around them.

These were less worse for wear. Parts of the seats had caught fire and the flames danced languidly, running along the leather and slowly growing in size.

Yuuri stumbled closer to the nearest one, peering into the maw of the plane body.

He wanted to throw up.

Some people were still strapped to their seats, hanging over them limply, arms and legs sprawled out unnaturally still. Yuuri swallowed as he took in the sight of these unfortunate people. Some had caught the worst of the fire. The flesh had melted off their heads, faces, and arms, black and red and peeling away to reveal the bone beneath.

Yuuri choked on the bile rising up in his throat.

He leaned over and retched on the blue floor of the plane.

His eyes were burning.

His throat ached.

He shouldn’t have come here.

He shouldn’t have come.

Flashes of the limp passengers echoed in his head, flying through his mind in sharp bursts, orange and red and black like the fire and the smoke.

There was nothing he could do against the onslaught of terror and pain and anguish.

_All those people…_

Yuuri’s legs buckled.

Hands caught him, lifted him up, provided a warm, strong support to lean against.

Yuuri instantly relaxed into the embrace, fitting his body against the other. His spine melted against the warm chest. His head tucked under the chin, curling into the space offered between shoulder and jaw. His hands rested on the forearms that encircled his body gently, caging him, protecting him from the outside world.

_Mmmmhh,_ Yuuri moaned. _Viktor…._

The arms tightened around him.

Yuuri’s eyes flew open.

Not Viktor.

Chris’s stubbly chin scratched against his cheek. The smell of sweat and smoke and the underlying scent of unfamiliar cologne filled Yuuri’s nostrils.

“Come on, Yuuri. There’s nothing left. We have to leave before the plane explodes,” the Swiss man whispered urgently against his skin.

Chris placed a gentle kiss against his temple. Yuuri closed his eyes and leaned into the sweet gesture.

Not Viktor.

“Come, Yuuri. There’s nothing left here.”

Smoke was filling his lungs, burning his chest, his heart. Everything ached. From the heat, the smoke, the memory...Viktor...not here anymore. Not here with him.

Yuuri felt the insistent hand tugging his arm.

He barely acknowledged the pressure of a palm against his back, leading him away from the wreckage. The world around him had gained a weightlessness, a blurriness that tilted everything around him almost upside down. Yuuri wanted to be sick again, but the darkness was flooding his vision instead, turning everything into a swimming pool of darkness.

He wanted to sink into that void, let it take him away. From the plane, the smoke, the memories of people dying and burning and sleeping forever in comas Yuuri couldn’t wake them from. There were memories of flashing silver hair and golden blades sweeping the ice. Of blood, so red against the frozen water of the rink. Of a limp body splayed out across it. Silver hair now streaked with that congealing red.

Viktor.

Not here with him.

Not here any longer.

_Breathe._

Can’t go on. Not without him. Not without Viktor.

_Breathe, Yuuri! Wake up!_

What’s the use of waking up if you’ll only ever be living in a nightmare?

_YUURI!_

There was a stinging sensation in his cheek he couldn’t get away from. Yuuri blinked sleepily against the nagging pain. _Go away_ . _I’m trying to sleep_.

The stinging returned, harder, slicing through his skin.

Yuuri let out a protesting cry and the world suddenly righted itself.

He heard Chris screaming his name, the sounds of flames eating up wood and metal, the sound of his own drumming heart. His vision came into focus moments later. There was the emerald glint of Chris’s eyes, bright with worry as they focused on him. There was the pepper of stubble on his chin, curling up to press against the same pink lips that had kissed his temple earlier. There was the blonde and brunette colored hair, soaked and darkened with grime and sweat. There was the palm that had led him away from the wreckage, raised and poised to strike him in the face again.

Yuuri leaned gratefully into the body of his friend. He didn’t realize he was sobbing until Chris wrapped his arms around him and rocked his body gently like a child. Soft murmuring words in a language he didn’t know wrapped him in a cradle of comfort. The French syllables were musical and they danced in his ears, in his heart, easing his chest.

The syllables, while beautiful, were also unfamiliar...not Russian…

Yuuri leaned away, sitting up on his heels. He wiped his eyes with dirt-streaked fingers and looked up, catching the softness in Chris’s face hardening and smoothing into something Yuuri couldn’t read.

“Thanks,” Yuuri whispered hoarsely, throat sore from the burning chemicals in the air.

Chris smiled, but the warmth of it didn’t reach his eyes. “Come on. There’s nothing left here. Let’s go.” The Swiss man stood up and held his hand out. Yuuri took the offered arm gratefully and was pulled immediately to his feet with surprising strength.

“Let’s leave before the plane exp-”

Chris’s words were cut off by a sudden loud and grating shriek.

Yuuri’s blood froze in his veins.

_Shit._

He watched as Chris peered over his head at something behind him. Green eyes widened in unbridled terror. “ _Run!”_ The Swiss man choked and whirled around, sprinting down the clearing toward the RV.

Yuuri’s confused feet followed, stumbling over the rocky dirt kicked up by the plane. He raced after Chris, hearing the inhuman, piercing shrieks grow in volume and another pair of feet- not his nor Chris’s- take off after him.

He risked a glance behind him and almost wished he hadn’t.

There was a woman racing after him.

She was still in her flight attendant uniform, but it was shredded and half-burnt by the fire. Burned and rotting flesh gaped from a wound in her hip. Her blond hair, what little remained of it, was dirty and ragged and hanging off in ashy clumps. Most of her scalp had been burned by the flames, and the bright red cap of it was shiny from the burn wound. The injuries didn’t stop her from tearing after him in a blind rage, throat emitting those inhuman screams loud enough to echo in his nightmares for years to come.

Yuuri stumbled over his feet, failing to see the larger pile of gravel and soil kicked up on top of the grass. He went down hard, instinct making his body land on his hip rather than his stomach or back like all the years on the ice had taught him. But the force of the impact still rattled his chest and made it hard to breathe.

Yuuri scrambled to his knees, fingers sinking into the dry grass and soil. He heaved himself up, head turning to find how far the woman was away from him.

The glance saved his life.

She’d taken a leap, body flying from the ground, ready to strike him, press him to the ground, rip the flesh from his body.

Terror made him meet her there.

She plowed into him, and what little breath had returned to him fled instantly as her body collided with his.

They both fell back to the earth, her scrabbling madly for him, teeth clacking loudly together. Yuuri watched in fear as she bared red-stained teeth at him, clicking her jaws together as she snapped at him. At his face, his neck, his chest.

She didn’t seem to care which part of his body she snapped at.

She was mindlessly twisting against him, held back only by his arms that trembled against her severe need to _rip into him_.

He screamed, but the sound was drowned out by her piercing howls. Shrieks of victory.

She attacked him again, sinking split fingernails into his cloth-covered shoulders. He twisted away from her, arms burning with the effort to hold her back.

But she drove into him, throwing her body mindlessly at him, teeth snapping, throat emitting screams that tore through his earbuds and rattled his heart.

_This is it_ , he thought. _This is where I die._

Terror had his mind and his eyes flashing for something, anything that would buy him another day of life, another day of survival. His eyes zeroed in on the hunting knife, still remarkably clutched in his fingers. He watched with detached interest as the woman surged against him again. Her forehead caught the tip of the blade, and blood slid down her eyes and cheeks, skin opened by the sharp knife slicing her open. She didn’t even blink. It was like she hadn’t noticed that she’d been hurt.

The pain in her scalp and hip must’ve been debilitating.

But she attacked him as if she were an animal, healthy and uninjured.

A small part of his mind balked at the idea of using the knife for anything at all against her. It recognized that killing any person, regardless of the circumstance, was still murder. It was still snuffing out a candle of life that had once been burning. It was something one couldn’t just ignore or forget.

But his eyes caught sight of the woman’s face as she jerked wildly against him.

Her eyes were milky, almost greenishly clouded, no natural color whatsoever reflected in her iris. In fact, there was no iris. It was just empty space with a darker circle for the eye. They were the orbs of something evil and inhuman. They sent shivers down Yuuri’s spine. They were so cold, so unfeeling, so... _dead_.

This woman was a feral monster. Not a woman anymore. Not a living, breathing, thinking, feeling woman.

No. She was something deadly. Evil. Inhuman.

She was a monster.

She was a demon.

Yuuri’s eyebrows drew together in determination.

This was no longer a person in front of him.

This was a raging beast set on killing him...unless he killed _it_ first.

Yuuri squeezed his fingers around the handle of the knife. He had little room for error. If he didn’t kill her, she would surely scrape by his defenses and kill him. He had to put her down with one shot. He had to debilitate her, ensure that she couldn’t attack him again.

The flesh of her throat was visible above the collar of her uniform.

That seemed the easiest way.

Drive the blade up into the pulse there, where life pumped just beneath the surface. If she still had some humanity left in her, she would get off him and clutch her throat trying to staunch the bleeding. The pause would give him enough time to escape.

Yuuri squeezed the handle of the knife harder, bracing himself for what he was about to do. There was no going back from this. There was no going back from murder.

She snapped at him, letting out a piercing shriek from her trembling throat. The grating noise pushed him into action. He released her momentarily, driving the knife into the flesh of her throat. There was some resistance, but the flesh gave away under the sharpness of his blade and his hand as it drove fiercly into her unprotected throat. He could feel the metal as it met the harder resistance of tendons, the thick syrup of the blood inside.

Yuuri choked on bile rising up in his throat.

Warm blood spilled over his hands, running down the blade, down his arms, dripping to the ground.

But the woman didn’t stop her attack.

She shrieked again, a cold gurgle that made blood choke out of her lips. The red ran down her chin, dripping onto Yuuri’s chest. It seemed she fought harder after that. Like she knew her life was ebbing away and she wanted her meal before she went.

Her nails drove into him, pinning him into the dirt.

A hiss scraped past her bloodstained teeth, and she reared back, ready to sink her teeth into his neck and rip him apart.

Instinct caused his eyes to move to his blood-soaked blade dangling from his fingers above her burned scalp. The knife glinted amber as it reflected the flickering flames from the plane wreckage.

His hands moved without thought.

One sank into the flesh of her throat, squeezing around the gushing flesh for something to steady himself with. The other hand drove the knife through her temple and into her skull.

It was much harder to get the blade in this time. There were no bones in her throat, but there was bone in her head. For a moment, he wondered if the knife had even gone through. It met resistance as it catapulted through her brain, through blood, through the protection of a thick skull.

It was even harder to pull it out.

The handle gave a protesting twinge.

The metal of the hunting knife was thin, and while melded to the handle strongly, was firmly embedded in the woman’s head.

Yuuri tugged with all his might and the knife sprang free with a sickening pop.

Blood gushed out of the wound in a waterfall Yuuri failed to dodge. The liquid poured over his face, his eyes, his nose, rust coating his lips, the taste of it flooding his tongue with bitter metallic flavor.

The woman slumped almost comically still against him.

He struggled under her weight, terror flashing through his chest, but she no longer attacked him. Her milky eyes  were gray and lifeless. The mouth that had screamed and snapped at him, was still.

Yuuri cried out and a spray of blood escaped his lips.

His heart seemed to still.

It was in his mouth.

The woman’s blood was in his mouth.

He could still remember the warm thickness of it on his hands, supine, syrupy, burning.

His stomach lurched.

Yuuri shoved the body off of him and rolled over, throwing up the little acid still left in his stomach. It seemed that puking was all he was doing today. There was nothing left for his stomach to purge anymore.

He twisted in the grass for a moment, tears springing to his eyes as he dry heaved painfully.

“Yuuri!”

It was Chris. Chris was somewhere near him.

Yuuri’s eyes rolled up to see the Swiss man slow to a halt a few feet before him. Green eyes watched him, pain and suspicion clouding their depths with darkness. Chris was holding the switchblade in his hand. The tip of it pointed accusingly at Yuuri, shining in the light, dangerous and threatening.

Chris thought he was one of them.

Chris thought he was a monster.

Yuuri choked as another wave of nausea hit him. He doubled over, resting his forehead against the cool earth as his body tried to expel what little remained still in him. His mouth tasted like acidic bile and blood. The thought almost sent him sprawling in the grass again.

Chris watched him with suspicion, feet light and apprehensive as they danced closer to him.

In the back of his mind, Yuuri realized that he must look like another convulsing victim changing into a flesh-eating monster.

“C-Chris,” he begged, throat closing up over the words.

He tried rising to his feet, but the adrenaline in his body had left him and he’d used all his strength to hold back that terrifying woman.

“Did you get bit?” Chris demanded. The usually soft voice, tinged with a slight French accent, was hard and grating. The Swiss man’s eyes were narrowed at him, flinty with distrust. “Answer me!” His voice boomed over the clearing and Yuuri flinched despite himself.

“N-no...Chris...p-please. I didn’t. Please, god, just...p-please! I...a little...i-it got in my mouth.”

Chris searched him for a moment, eyes focused on the shining blood covering his face and neck. His gaze shifted to the still woman. Her eyes were still open and milky, staring into nothingness. Chris studied her for a moment, eyes moving across her wounds, her still form, with coldness. It was like he didn’t care that she was dead or that Yuuri had killed her. He had eyes focused only for a hint of movement. Nothing else.

The Swiss man’s gaze returned to him, alighting on something it deemed evidence of Yuuri’s innocence. Chris’s face eased into relief and he closed the switchblade and pocketed it before scooping Yuuri up into a hard embrace.

Yuuri’s ribs protested the tight squeeze and a strangled gasp escape his lips, but he returned the hug with equal fervor, burying his head in Chris’s chest.

“I thought I lost you,” The Swiss man whispered against his cheek, nuzzling him with his stubbled chin.

“I’m here,” Yuuri whispered back, resting his palms against Chris’s spine and pressing against him in relief.

Chris leaned back, breaking their intimate hug. “Let’s get out of here. Who knows how many of those... _things_ are still here.”

Yuuri nodded gratefully and accepted Chris’s hand as the Swiss man laced their fingers together.

They both turned to leave in the direction of the RV, but a voice behind them made them freeze in place.

“ _You killed it!”_

Chris and Yuuri turned, meeting the gray eyes of a woman stumbling over the grass from where she’d been hiding inside one of the plane pieces.

She was olive-skinned. A fan of dark, wavy hair swept over her shoulders in a lion’s mane of curls, tangled and frizzy from the heat and smoke. She was staggering under the weight of an injured man leaning against her. His brown eyes were fixed on them, eyes wide.

“What?” Yuuri whispered quietly, shocked to see the couple make their way across the clearing toward them.

“No one knew how to stop those things from attacking. They don’t die. Ever.” The woman said, voice echoing strong and clear across the grass. Yuuri watched in detached interest as the tips of her hair, reflecting the bright orange of the flames, bathed her hair in light. She looked like a warrioress, an Amazonian queen, stalking across the brush at him, carrying the injured man in her arms as if he were a puppy and not a 6’3, thickly muscled man. Her eyes were fierce and stormy like the ever-thickening cloud above them. They pierced through Yuuri wildily, searching him as if the answer to her question lay bare against his skin for all to see.

“I stabbed it in the head,” Yuuri explained lamely.

The woman and her injured partner stopped a couple feet from them. Chris brushed against Yuuri’s shoulder, leaning into him as if ready to spring into action and protect him from the strangers who had appeared out of the plane wreckage.

“I’m Gina, and this is Aaron,” She murmured, pointing at the dark skinned man leaning against her.

“Yuuri,” the Japanese man breathed, surprised at how much a familiar, formal greeting felt good amidst all the chaos of the past hours. “Katsuki Yuuri. This is Chris.”

Gina opened her mouth to speak, but another voice cut her off, this one younger, familiar, harsh and surprised.

“ _Katsudon?!_ Is that you?”

Yuuri’s heart froze in his chest and he glanced up over Gina and Aaron to spot three more figures escape the wreckage of the plane. Gradually their features sharpened from smoke-ridden blurs making their way across the clearing to clear figures.

A young, blond boy holding onto a larger balding man. And at their feet, trotting happily, tongue hanging out of her mouth, curls bouncing, was-

“Makkachin,” Yuuri whispered softly. Tears sprung up into his eyes, burning along with his throat. He choked on a sob threatening to rise up in his chest and shake him from the shaky foundations he’d built himself on since the car crash and wreckage from the morning. His throat closed up with emotion.

“Yurio! Yakov!” He sobbed and sprinted off to meet them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse other than I had finals when I posted the last chapter. And instead of feeling relief after those exams enough to start banging out chapters, I got lazy, forgot about the story, and then just fell into a period of time where I didn't really know what to do with this fic.
> 
> But inspiration struck with a nice trip to the beach (large bodies of water are apparently great catalysts to get the creative juices flowing) and now I'm back on the YOI/zombie au train!!!
> 
> Thank you guys so much for sticking with me <3  
> I'm a pain when it comes to updates


	6. Still Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Viktor chapter you've all been waiting for...

**Vancouver, Canada**

**December 9, 2018**

 

Viktor caught up to Chris as his friend skidded off the ice, taking the offered skate guards from his coach. 

“Chris! You did great,” The silver haired Russian beamed as he took in the sheen of sweat that glinted off the other man’s forehead and rolled down his neck so the bronze skin glowed under the rink lights.

Chris grimaced. “You know I have no chance of medalling against you and the rest of your ‘podium family’,  _ cheri _ .”

Viktor’s heart fluttered in his chest at the name he, Yuuri, and Yurio had been dubbed with by the media this skating season. The three skaters dominated the podium at Grand Prix events, Nationals, and World Championships, raking in gold, silver, and bronze to share between them as they competed against each other. His Yuuri had won gold in both of his events this season- the NHK back in November and Skate Canada in October.

Viktor had been waiting for Yuuri to come to him, shy and beautiful, and remind him of their promise to get married. But Yuuri had eyes for the Grand Prix prize. Viktor indulged his lover’s desire to win, but he knew that he would marry Yuuri in a heartbeat, Grand Prix Final gold medal or no. His fiancee had to just say the words and Viktor would immediately rise to the occasion.

Viktor had already been preparing for a wedding if he was being completely honest. He’d been saving pictures and links to all sorts of Pinterest boards since the beginning of summer. Boards like  **Decorations, Flowers, Suits, Cater, Music, Gold Themed Wedding, Japanese Wedding,** and  **Russian Wedding** flooded his account with gorgeous ideas for matrimony. He had all sorts of locations picked out for weddings inside and outside, on the beach, under the cherry blossoms, outside the cathedral in Barcelona where Yuuri had presented their matching gold rings. There were so many themes and ideas to choose from that Viktor was certain they could get married every year for the rest of their lives.

Viktor, however, had a special place in his heart saved for three different weddings. One to celebrate his and Yuuri’s love on the ice. The others would honor the traditions tied to their respectable countries. He wouldn’t mind getting married three times to his lover in succession. Perhaps a Japanese wedding in the Spring would do fine when the cherry blossoms bloomed. Then the ice skating one during the Summer before the new season started. And then a Russian wedding in late December or early January.

Perhaps after retirement, Viktor could even give thought to catering weddings. He would be a phenomenal wedding planner. Any partners that sought him out would be amazed by his attention to detail and appreciation of the craft. Maybe he could choreograph routines for other skaters at the same time. He could be doing two things he loved until the end of his days and be perfectly content with his Yuuri at his side.

For so long, Viktor’s future had seemed cold and dismal. For a long time in his early skating career, he would have nightmares about skating abandoning him when his joints fail to take the impact of a Quad. He would be cast out by the media, cast out by the federation that had made his career skyrocket, cast out by fans who would move on to the next shiny and glorious thing. And he’d be left to live in the world with no skills or talents or experience. The only thing he was good at was skating.

And then Yuuri Katsuki had crashed into his life- literally- beautiful and flushed and sparkling after 16 flutes of champagne. Viktor fell so hard. He abandoned his career, flew almost five thousand miles to Yuuri’s hometown in Japan, and then fell in love with a different, truer Yuuri who was shy and hesitant but determined, brave, and passionate on the ice.

Viktor smiled. “You’re a twenty seven year old skater, Chris. Almost twenty eight. The fact that you’re in fourth right now is a testament to your strength. Who knows? You may even beat me tonight.”

Chris fluttered his eyes at him, lips drawing together in a pout. “Don’t flatter me. You’re twenty nine and dominating all these contestants right now.” The Swiss man raked his blond hair back. “At least take me out to dinner first before you decide to seduce me with your... _ encouragement _ .”

The innuendo did not go over Viktor’s head, and he wrinkled his nose in response. He was used to his friend’s eccentricity. Nothing would come out of their friendly banter (or ‘flirting’ as Chris called it). Even Yuuri had gotten used to the way Chris would spin all his words into sexier, risque versions of what they actually meant. It was part of Chris’s charm.

Viktor waved his hand, laughing. “Sorry, Chris. I already promised dinner to my lover tonight.”

Chris leaned forward, green eyes sparkling with interest. “Oh? And if our little Japanese  _ trésor _ wins gold tonight?”

Viktor could just see his fiancee on top of the podium, burgundy eyes wide and shining as he takes in thousands of fans leaping to their feet in congratulation of the hard-earned gold medal in his hands. Viktor could just see the confidence it would give his lover, the relief it would give Yuuri to finally prove to the world that he could be a step above the Living Legend on the podium and deserve to usurp that title. And perhaps Viktor could coax his Eros out with a few glasses of champagne at the banquet, a spin around the pole, a very passionate use of that gold medal looped around Viktor’s hands as he was bound and dominated in bed by a fiery lover….

Viktor sucked in a sharp breath, willing the warmth in his cheeks to disappear and not travel  _ down _ . Where the spandex was strangely thin and... _ tight _ .

Chris peered up at him knowingly and laughed. “Ah,  _ cheri _ . You are whipped. I’m so jealous of you and your perfect little sex god to play with.”

Viktor groaned. “Don’t let him hear you say that. He would never even look at a flute of champagne again.”

The Swiss man winked. “Well, I must leave you now. Practice is over and I have some stretching to do if I’m going to knock you down a peg or two tonight.”

Viktor rolled his eyes, watching as his friend strolled through the curtains parting the rink and audience from the backstage room.

After this skating season, it was more than likely that both he and Chris would retire. They’d had a long run together. If Viktor did the math right, then he’d actually been in the same competitions with Chris for 10 years. The thought of losing that friendly competition was saddening.

It wasn’t like he and Chris would become strangers after this, but it was a little bittersweet to realize that they wouldn’t be challenging each other like this in competition anymore. They wouldn’t be fighting for a gold medal and a spot on the podium anymore. They wouldn’t be getting drunk and laughing at banquet parties, taking late night excursions up to the balcony pool of their hotel, or falling asleep in the same bed after staying up all night gossiping about other skaters and painting their nails and passing a bottle of wine back and forth between them.

But it was at least relieving to know that Chris was his greatest friend, one he could trust in and confide in whenever the situation arose. Chris could never betray him.

 

***

 

**1 week after the accident**

 

Images flooded his mind.

So fast.

They flitted behind his eyelids, appearing and disappearing like a clicking vintage movie projector.

Some were blurry and unfocused-

Unfocused like he’d suddenly zoomed in on these images with a phone, shuttering away at the sights while they moved and danced before him.

Swimming in and out of focus.

Dancing, whirling, to and fro like swirling fairies.

Like twirling skaters doing quad flips.

So fast. So blurry.

Colors- sharp and defined.

Blurry.

Swimming. Darkening. Brightening. Darkening. Brightening.

Swimming and swimming and swimming.

He couldn’t place them. Couldn’t understand them.

Shards and pieces of a once whole mirror. Shards too small to fit back into their whole shapes. Shards too jagged to touch and hold.

Swimming

And brightening

And darkening…

 

***

 

**2 weeks after the accident**

 

“Yuuri is really worried about you.”

The familiar name stirred him out of the darkness, lifted him out of the dark waters that pooled around him. He fought to open his eyes. They wouldn’t work. Maybe they were already open.

There was so much light. All around him. Blinding him. Flooding his vision. Too bright when they were set against the black waters that raised him up, provided a resting place that he could float in and forget the pain.

Just thinking about the pain was enough.

It stabbed into his head like shards of glass.

Shards of glass...familiar....like blurring images swimming in his head.

His head that hurt and burned and ached.

SwimmingSwimmingSwimming.

Why did he have to be brutally awakened like this? Why did he have to be disturbed? It had been so nice to lie in those dark waters and let them flood over his body, cooling the heat that simmered in his belly and his legs and arms and fingertips. A burn that ached- like holding the tip of skin to flame. Aching and burning. Almost unbearable. So quiet that you wanted to jerk your hand away from the heat of it. The mind certainly knew that fire was dangerous. The mind burned the fingers too, coaxing them to jerk away- away from that heat and fire and pain.

Away.

Go away.

Fire and pain. Burning. Swimming. Shards of glass. Blurriness. Fire and pain...

“He wants you to wake up, Viktor. We all want you to wake up.”

The voice was back again, hollow and thin and unrecognizable.

It sounded like it was being filtered underwater. Sounded like it was being set against the roaring in his head like rough waves. Distorted, unrecognizable.

Annoying.

He just wanted to sleep. Sink into those dark waters and lose himself to the coolness.

Forget the aching pain in his body.

He was paralyzed.

He knew his body was there. With him. Somewhere there. With him.

Viktor knew that it was just an empty vessel now, wasting away on a hospital bed somewhere. His body wasn’t connected to him any longer. Because he could feel himself lying in dark waters even though his body wasn’t.

It was practically dead.

The thought wasn’t as terrifying as he knew it should be.

“Yuuri asked me to give you these. They’re blue roses. He must’ve spent a fortune on a whole bouquet of these. But he wanted something fresh and alive in your room.”

There was that name again. The name that warmed his heart, made it beat quicker, made Viktor feel as if he was connected to his body again.

Images of gentle burgundy eyes flashed in his mind. The memories of silky black hair beneath his fingertips. The ghost of a velvety touch, soft lips against his, a body intertwined with his own.

Connected.

Soulmate…

Viktor whimpered, thrashing against the dark waters.

The memories of his fiancee were too much to bear. They ached more than he could stand.

It was torturous to be paralyzed and flooded with the senses and memories of a time that was warm.

It was torturous to hear the name of his fiance and be confined to the darkness…

It was torturous to die knowing that he had been so close to love, only to be torn harshly away from the one thing in his life that adored him unconditionally.

Viktor summoned all his strength, seeking out the broken ties to his body, searching desperately for a line (any line) to still be connected to life.

“I told him to stay at the hotel today and get some rest. He’s been here everyday since your accident-”

_ Yes, I know. I feel him when he’s near. I feel the ghost of his touch when he holds my hand. I can hear the echo of his words when he whispers sweet nothings into my ear, words of praise and encouragement and pain… _

“He doesn’t sleep well. I don’t think he’s gotten more than a few hours of rest in weeks. He has nightmares about you and wakes up screaming. I try to comfort him as best I can,  _ cheri _ . But he just wraps himself up in a blanket and watches the city wake up through the hotel’s window until visiting hours here start.”

_ I wish I could tell him that I’m ok. I wish I could tell him to live. I wish I could wake up right now and force him to go back to the hotel and eat and sleep. He needs to take care of himself and stop worrying about me. I’m fine… _

“I try to get him to eat. He doesn’t really touch whatever I give him. He just nibbles on things here and there. Stares off into space mostly. And then he pushes his plate away and grabs his coat and comes right back here to you. You don’t know how many times the nurses and I have come into this room and found him nodding off against your arm. The nurses even gave him his own pillow so he could nap here. But he rarely actually falls asleep. He says he wants to be ready for whenever you wake up.”

_ Oh, Yuuri. Oh, my love. _

“He doesn’t like to think that with every minute you don’t wake, the chance of you ever waking up again gets slimmer and slimmer. He wants to believe that you’ll open your eyes.”

_ I wish I could, Chris. Believe me. I want it more than anything in the world. _

“Yakov said that he’s kinda like a soldier’s wife waiting desperately everyday for her lover to return from the war. He says that Yuuri’s pining could outmatch any BBC drama. All he needs now is a hilltop and a sunset.”

_ He wouldn’t ever give up on me. He’d wait on that hilltop every hour of everyday for the rest of his life. He loves me more than I deserve. _

“Just wanted to fill you in on the state of things. I feel like I just say the same stuff to you every time. All that ‘get better soon’ and ‘we believe in you’ and ‘we’ll wait here as long as it takes’. So I’ll just say that we’re still here. We’re still hanging in.”

_ Thank you, Chris. It means a lot. _

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Viktor.”

And he was left with silence. Left to his own thoughts screaming in his mind.

But he could practically smell the fresh vase of roses next to him.

If he concentrated enough, he could just pick out the soft floral scent…

 

***

 

**3 weeks after the accident**

**(5 days after the destruction of Toronto)**

 

It had been strangely silent for a while now.

Viktor couldn’t hear Yuuri or Chris.

He couldn’t smell the roses anymore. Their scent had faded a long time ago. Maybe days or weeks.

He couldn’t really tell.

Time didn’t exist in this surreal dreamscape.

But he’d been practicing.

He could wiggle his fingers and his toes if he summoned the energy. If he concentrated enough, he could feel the phantom connection to his body and move those dead limbs. Viktor wondered if it worked.

Was he actually wiggling his fingers and toes? Was he actually showing signs of movement?

Chris and Yuuri had not let out any exclamations at this progress. It was like they couldn’t even see what he was accomplishing.

So maybe it wasn’t working.

Everything seemed so much colder now. So much more silent.

Except for the rhythmic beat of what must have been a heart monitor.

Most of the time, he wished he could reach over and turn the damned noise off.

He knew that he was alive. He was painfully aware of this fact. Death couldn’t be this cruel. It couldn’t be cruel enough to dangle his fiancee, his friends, and his family in front of him if he was already gone.

So he must be alive.

He must be moving.

Movement meant life. Movement meant clawing his way back to the surface.

Movement meant being reunited with his Yuuri again.

 

***

 

**4 weeks after the accident**

**(12 days after the destruction of Toronto)**

 

Being stuck in a coma was so boring.

There was nothing.

No sound.

No movement.

No life….

Except for the rhythmic words he repeated to himself.

_ Breathe….wiggle...breathe...wiggle...breathe...wiggle...breathe _

Moving was so much easier now.

He could  _ feel  _ it. He could feel his draining energy every time he twitched a finger or a toe.

He’d even learned to pick out which finger it was that moved. Thumb, index, middle, ring, pinkie. He’d learned to differentiate most of the toes. Big toe, little toe, the three in the middle.

Wiggle. Wiggle. Wiggle.

Never had he taken so much pride in being able to twitch a few digits.

He was the Living Legend of figure skating. One didn’t necessarily pay attention to how long he could wag his fingers and toes when launching into a quad flip as easy as breathing.

But this was progress. This was a couple steps closer to being reunited with Yuuri.

_ Yuuri _ .

_ Wiggle….breathe...wiggle...breathe...wiggle...breathe… _

 

***

 

**4 weeks and three days after the accident**

**(15 days after the destruction of Toronto)**

 

The world was so blurry when he opened his eyes.

He didn’t open them very often.

It terrified him when his eyes wheeled about the hospital room. The world around him was grey and blurry and incomprehensible.

It reminded him of the shards of glass, the painful memories and images flying at him so fast that all he wanted to do was sink into the ground and disappear.

Why was his vision so blurry?

And why did no one care?

Why was no one here to coax him out of the last bits of darkness that still flooded his mind when he expelled too much energy moving? Why was there no one to coax him to his feet and help him shake off the dredges of sleep that still clung to him and threatened to drag him back into dark waters? Why was no one hear to speak to him? Cherish him with sweet words? Encouraging words? Loving words?

Did they forget about him?

The Living Legend must be dead to them.

Bound to his hospital bed while new legends rise out of the ashes to take his place and title on the ice.

Why did no one help him out of the nothingness?

He could still skate.

He could still live and breath and skate.

_ I’ll do anything. _

_ Take me back. _

_ Please come back. _

_ Come back and love me and pay attention to me and be with me. _

_ I don’t want to be alone anymore… _

 

Voice weeping in the distance. 

 

_ Have you been abandoned too? _

 

Viktor remembered the words of a mournful melody.

That aria. What was it called again?

He had skated to it once.

When the darkness in his life had threatened to drown him…

And then light had flooded in instead.

Light.

Yuuri.

_ Yuuri. _

_ I remember now. _

_ Duetto. Stammi Vicino. My love. _

_ YuuriYuuriYuuri _

_ I love you. _

_ Yuuri. _

_ I love you. _

_ Don’t leave me... _

_ Stay close to me. _

_ Don’t go away. _

_ I’m afraid of losing you. _

_ Your hands, your legs, my hands, my legs, _

_ And our heartbeats are blending together. _

_ Lets leave together. _

 

_ I’m ready now-  _

 

*******

 

**5 weeks after the accident**

**(19 days after the destruction of Toronto)**

 

The silence was deafening. What a strange oxymoron- silence being  _ deafening _ . Being so loud it shuts out all noise. Being so loud it’s quiet.

Strange.

Strange that there should be noise- just a little- and there  _ wasn’t _ .

Yuuri and Chris were gone. Their words of love that had lifted Viktor up out of the dark place were gone.

Even the heart monitor that had been there for him was silent.

Everyone and everything had abandoned him.

Now he was forced to lie in his hospital bed with his vision swimming in and out of focus. His eyesight had gotten somewhat better. He could see things around him a bit more clearly now. However, he’d been propped up on his back in the hospital bed, so the only thing he could see was the smoke alarm on the ceiling. If he strained his eyes more, he could just see the top half of the clock on the far wall. Right now, the little hand was on the 3 and the big hand was on the 11.

That clock had been like that forever. Always 3:55.

Every time he glanced at that clock, it was 3:55.

Perhaps he was going crazy.

That was the most plausible thing.

_ You’ve always been the most brainless imbecile I’ve ever had the misfortune of teaching. _

Yakov.

His words were echoing in the room.

Was he here?

Viktor would take anyone handed to him right now. He was going stir crazy here without someone to talk to him.

“Yak...Y-y...a….ov?” His throat was so gritty and so closed up from disuse that the syllables failed to come out with their usual ease. His tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth, like it had swelled up and blocked his airway. It was a bit difficult to breathe the way he was situated.

_ Spit it out, boy. I don’t have all day. _

“You….ne….r ch-ch...a-a…nge,” Viktor forced out. God it was so difficult to even think about how to formulate the Russian words out of his throat. He hadn’t spoken aloud in ages. Couldn’t Yakov cut him a little slack?

_ You know I’ve never cut you any slack. I made you a champion. Champions of mine are no beggars and choosers. _

Viktor coughed, throat spasming at the dryness. He needed water. There was no way he could talk anymore without water, without something to drench his vocal chords in that would bring them to life.

“C-can’t...br-br...eathe,” Viktor choked, straining to move his hands, his arms, anything to get Yakov to help him. He was choking on the dryness, on the desert that had made itself known in his mouth. Everything was swollen from dehydration. His throat was blocked. His mouth was blocked. He couldn’t  _ breathe _ .

_ Overdramatic as always, Vitya. Haven’t I taught you better than that? _

Viktor couldn’t help but chuckle at that. Yakov never changed. If there was anything constant in his life right now, it was the fact that Yakov was his same old senile self. The same grumbly old man that always demanded slightly more than Viktor could take.

Most coaches never crossed the lines with their skaters. They rarely pushed them to achieve more than what was possible. Or healthy for that matter.

But Yakov believed that greatness came from going above all limitations. Crossing the line was the only way to achieve victory. How else do people become great?

_ There you are, Vitya _ .

“You know I….a-always come...cr-crawling...back.” Viktor gritted out, forcing the syllables between his teeth. He would push himself. He would cross the line this time. Beyond his body’s limitations, beyond the thickness in his throat and the pounding in his skull.

_ And I warn you every time you leave that I won’t take you back. _

“Look how well...th-that...turned….out f-for you.” Viktor grimaced. The dryness was almost too much to bear. His body screamed against being forced to work after the long time spent cradled in the confines of his hospital bed.

_ Well, if anything, that Japanese skater is the best thing that ever happened to you. _

“My Yuuri is always there for me,” Viktor growled through the thickness.

It was like a switch. The name of his fiancee had seemed to flood his body with electric nerves that lighted him up with energy. The maddening desire to hold Yuuri close and feel their heartbeats blend together was almost too much to bear.

Like holding your fingertips to flame and forcing the mind to resist the urge to jerk away.

“P-please, Yakov. Where is he? Where’s Yuuri?” Viktor groaned. Too much too soon. Too many words. His body seemed to collapse in on itself as the coughing wracked his body with harsh spasms. His lungs protested the breaths of air, the expelling of words, the energy to breathe and speak at the same time.

Where was he? Where was Yakov? Had he gone away too?

“Yakov?” Viktor questioned into the still air. He forced his body to move, to obey, to force the muscles it hadn’t used in so long to help him.

The weight of his head turned against the pillow.

There was no Yakov there at his bedside.

Where had the old man gone?

He was just there, whispering into the shell of Viktor’s ear.

“Yakov, where are you?” Viktor whispered. The words were coming easier now. It was like his body had given up trying to stop him from speaking.

The rest of the room blurred into focus. What had been grainy and unclear was now sharp...but still.

There seemed to be no movement in the hospital room. Even the dust, reflecting in the light spilling out from the spaces between the blinds, floated without really moving anywhere.

The room was painted a cool blue color. Not so bright as to hurt the eyes. Not so dark as to give off the impression of depression.

Viktor shifted against the pillow, willing his body to move closer to the edge of the bed.

There on the stand beside the table was the vase of roses Chris had told him about.

But they weren’t full and fresh. They weren’t blooming with rich blue hues, curling into the air with the fullness of life.

No.

The roses had shrunken in on themselves. Crumply. Almost black in color. The stems had shriveled up and the buds had closed in on themselves. Curling in. Brown.  _ Dead _ .

Most of the petals had fallen off and made a pile of disintegrating deadness around the vase.

Viktor whimpered and stretched a shaking arm out to finger one of shriveled roses barely clinging to its stalk. It felt like tissue paper beneath his fingers. The rose made a crinkling, gritty noise. Dry and dead. Like how his mouth and throat was feeling.

Loose petals escaped under his grasp and dropped to the table to land unceremoniously into the heap of decaying flowers.

How long had these things been here?

Roses could last a couple weeks without drawing in on themselves like this. The roses before him were shrivelled up entirely. No green in sight. Not even a bud or stalk that had stuck out and lived against the others. All were disintegrating in the vase before him.

So how long had Viktor been asleep?

His eyes met the wall ahead of him where the clock had been mounted up in the sea of blue paint.

3:55

But then again….it had always been like that.

And the hands weren’t moving.

There was no quiet ticking of the red counting hand. It seemed to be stuck between the little hand and the big hand.

Viktor counted the seconds.  _ 1...2….3….4….5 _

But the red hand remained stubbornly still.

What time was it really?

Viktor groaned and turned over again, eyes alighting on the vase of dying roses. Why had no one come to take them away? Why had no one fixed the clock on the wall...or the quiet heart monitor beside him.

Viktor’s eyes turned to the quiet machine, the machine that had died somewhere in Viktor’s dreamscape.

The monitor was black and still. No green light to call him living. No green to read out his heartbeat.

Was he dead then?

Was this the afterlife?

Was it like in the movies where the person woke up dead, forced to walk the earth and watch their loved ones wallow away in mourning and not be able to do anything about it? The stories always said that dead people were bound to Earth because of something they’d failed to do in life.

What had Viktor failed to do?

Marry Yuuri was the most likely answer. He wouldn’t put it past his heart to stay on Earth and bind his soul to the ground because he hadn’t gotten the chance to become Yuuri’s husband. The thought was painful enough to put a spear into his heart. He would never get the chance to be Yuuri’s husband. If he was dead, he would never get to be with Yuuri again.

A groan of pain escaped his lips at the idea.

He couldn’t handle being tied to the Earth for eternity, watching Yuuri wither and pass away and not have the chance to love him and be with him ever again.

Viktor gritted his teeth and shifted in the bed.

He wouldn’t think about that.

In fact, he might not be dead period. He just had to get out of this godforsaken bed and figure out what was wrong.

Viktor summoned what energy remained in his body’s reserves to shove the hospital blanket off his legs. They were weak and shaky against the coolness of the room. Viktor wondered if he’d even be able to walk on them.

But he had to try. It was the only way to get back to Yuuri.

Viktor moaned as he forced his body upright. First, his arms moved beneath his body to press against the hospital bed and force his torso up, up off the bed. His arms were so weak. So shaky. It was taking all his energy just to sit up.

His arms screamed in agony, shaking treacherously, like a young sapling in a hurricane, limbs threatening to collapse under the strain.

Viktor let out a bark of pain as he managed to sit up fully. The blood rushed from his head down to his arms, his fingers, his toes, sending prickly nerves of pain through his body. There were wires threatening to force his body back down. Tubes were attached to his chest, his wrist, his nose, spilling and coiling around all over his body.

Viktor grimaced and pulled at the one in his nose. It tickled unpleasantly as it was forced from his nostrils. He fought against the urge to sneeze and turned his attention to some of the other tubes. He unclipped the reader attached to his thumb. The node attached to his chest peeled off with a sticky, stinging jerk. Sweat had already begun pouring down the lines of his chest and his abs at the strain he’d made to move around.

Viktor reached out for the IV stand next to him, ready to pull himself up to his feet. He garnered what energy he could to force his body up off the bed. His bare feet made contact with the cold tile floor for a moment. The IV stand shuddered violently against his weight.

And then his legs gave out.

He hit the floor hard on his knees and crumpled over, gasping as the air was knocked from his lungs. His palms stung where they slapped against the floor. His knees throbbed with pain. His ribs twinged in protest.

Shudders wracked his body and Viktor curled into himself, whimpering as the pain flooded through his body. He was so weak. He could barely move.

Why was he being tortured like this?

Not too long ago, he could land his signature Quad Flip with ease. Now his limbs had forsaken him. He felt like a baby deer trying to stand on shaky legs for the first time.

“ _ Nurse _ ,” Viktor gritted out, fighting against the throbbing in his chest and throat. “Nurse,  _ help _ .” There was no use trying to scream. His throat, for one, could barely force regular syllables out from his lips. Screaming, on the other hand, was bound to send him into another coughing fit. He just didn’t have the strength for it.

Hot annoyance pulsed through his body.

If the nurses would just do their fucking jobs, he wouldn’t be curled up here on the floor in fetal position.

Viktor’s fingers dug into his arms. He was going to have to get up by himself, open the door, and hopefully someone in the hallway would finally help him.

But there was one thing still left to do.

Viktor’s fingers circled the skin of his forearm, tracing the giant catheter  pressed up against the vein inside of him. Gritting his teeth, he seized the plastic and yanked it out. A massive ooze of blood followed, spilling down his wrists and dripping onto the tiled floor.

He clamped his palm over the wound, gritting as blood spilled out with every throb of his heart. He waited for the dizziness to follow, the shock of blood loss.

But it never came.

Gradually, the blood gushing out between his fingers stopped.

Viktor released a breath and shoved the tube away from his arm. He eyed the IV stand for a moment. It had fallen next to him when his legs gave out. The IV bag attached to the hook was empty. The catheter had sat in his arm for who knows how long. When had the fluid run out? Why hadn’t the nurses changed it out?

An ominous feeling of foreboding crawled up in his chest.

Something was wrong.

No hospital would treat a patient this way.

Something must have happened.

Something must have happened, because the roses on the bed table were dead, the clock didn’t work, and he hadn’t heard or seen Yuuri, Chris, or Yakov anywhere.

The fear sent pricks of pain into his body, alighting his nerves with fire, with adrenaline. Like it was awakening ancient, long-forgotten instincts buried somewhere in his body.

Something was wrong. Something was dangerously, ominously wrong.

With the adrenaline pumping in his veins, Viktor managed to push himself up and off the tile with only minimal exhaustion. He forced the IV stand up and leaned heavily against it, wheeling it with him as he limped to the door.

Instinct wanted him to release the door handle and get back into bed. Instinct wanted him to not open the door. Something out there had those ancient intuitions screaming with fear.

But Viktor would never know what was out there awaiting him if he didn’t turn the handle. Out there was Yuuri. Out there was freedom. Out there was love. Danger too. Of that, Viktor had no doubt. But if he didn’t turn the handle now, he would waste away in this hospital room and probably die.

With determination fueling his body and coating his veins with steel, Viktor turned the door handle and stepped out into a world that would never be the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEEESSSS! Viktor is now in the game. Things are about to get really interesting!!! I'm so excited!!
> 
> Ok, so first of all, yes, Viktor has been in a hospital bed for 19 days without food and water. Plausible? No. Absolutely not. But then gain, TWD never explained Rick's 46 days either. We'll call it the 'artistic licence' explanation. It just makes the story exciting lol.
> 
> Also, if the first stages of Viktor being in a coma didn't make any sense to you...just know it didn't make sense to me either. Viktor is in a coma. He's confused, in a bit of pain, hopped up on meds, etc. So yeah, all his 'visions' are messing with his head.
> 
> Thanks for following this story! You guys are the greatest!

**Author's Note:**

> You wouldn't believe how long it took to make those articles, news stories, and reports. There's a lot that goes into an apocalypse. In the next chapter, Viktor wakes up from his injury to find that the world he lives in is gone and the apocalypse has just begun!


End file.
